Locus Amoenus
by tataalicat
Summary: Locus Amoenus: A place of safety and comfort; a happy place. Jenny Shepherd had made one rule clear when she became director: No off the job. One night changes everything between them, and she's forced to deal with the repercussions of her choices: to decide between what she knows is best and what she knows she wants. It should be easy, but life with Jethro Gibbs is never easy.
1. The Morning After

Growing up in the city, Jenny Shepherd knew full well that the corridors between buildings served as makeshift wind tunnels when the weather turns cold.

She was harshly reminded of that fact as she made her way inside the front doors of the NCIS, a gust of icy air brushing against her skin. She pulled her coat tighter around her thin frame, though it did little ward off the cold, and only when she walked through the doors did a wave of heat wash over her. Still, she could feel the chill lingering in her fingers as she made her way to the elevator.

It was just nearing 7 am - almost an hour later than she normally arrived - when she made her way through the bullpen, and though Gibbs bleary eyed team was already gathered at their desks, the man himself had yet to make an appearance. If she were being honest, his lack of a presence relieved her somewhat. That was a beast she did not want to tackle today.

She had told Cynthia when she was entering her office that she didn't want to be disturbed today. Her fingers still ached from the cold and the dull headache she woke up had blossomed into a full migraine. On top of that, she had been running late this morning and hadn't been able to stop for coffee, a routine she did every morning.

It was because of this that the green and white coffee cup sitting on her desk surprised her. Cynthia would have known better than to get it for her, knowing she would have brought her own, and she was certain she hadn't forgotten to throw away her one from yesterday when she left. Then again, she had rushed out in a hurry.

Her assumption was confirmed when she touched it though, it's heat palpable through the cardboard. It certainly wasn't from the day before.

One taste and she knew who had brought it. There was only a single person who dared to drink that strong of a blend besides her.

He anticipated her being late today, with both amused and irked her. She supposes that his uncanny way of knowing how she operates should put her ill at ease, but she supposes there will always be a part of her that liked that about their relationship. They were both open books when it came to each other.

Still, that's partly what got them into this mess.

Despite her attempt not to, she smiles again as she takes another sip of the coffee, peeling off the layers of her winter clothes when she does before taking a seat at her desk.

She's only three papers into the stack of files on her desk when the door flies open.

"Need you."

Cynthia appears behind him, eyes defeated but not surprised as she looks to Jenny.

"It's fine, Cynthia."

With a nod, the younger woman closes the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone in her office. She crosses her arms impatiently.

"You're going to push my assistant into early retirement, Jethro." she says with a glare.

"FBI is intruding on my case. " He says, ignoring her statement entirely.

"Reason being?"

"Dead petty officer in Virginia," he explains, "FBI was looking into him for suspected murder. Evidence is slim to none on their end, and they're interfering with my investigation."

His eyes land on the now half drank coffee cup for a moment before flicking back up to look at her. There's an amused smirk on his lips when he takes in the sight.

"Running late today, Jen?" he asks, nodding towards the cup.

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, "Perhaps, Agent Gibbs."

Giving into him would only add more fuel to the fire, and the situation she found herself in within the last 24 hours.

"Something keep you up last night?"

She cracks under his words, shooting him a glare that could rival his own. She learned from the best, after all.

"Did you come to talk about the your case, Agent Gibbs? If not, I don't think there's anything else for us to discuss."

He quirks up an eyebrow, "Isn't there?"

There's a part of her that knows she's being unfair. That she was just as much responsible for the predicament they found themselves in as he was. Still, his intentional aloofness toward the situation was doing nothing more than making her headache worse and her nerves more agitated.

"I take it you're fine with the FBI poking around into your case since you seemed to have forgotten about that, then?" She asks, flashing him a false smile and batting her eyelashes at him.

"I want them off my back," he answers gruffly, "they're getting in the way of my team closing in on a suspect. One wrong move on their part and we have a dead Petty Officer with no killer."

She breathes a sigh of relief, "I'll make a few phone calls, but I can't delay them forever if they have an ongoing investigation. You need to close in quick, or there's nothing I can do."

He nods, turning to leave but stopping before he makes more than a few steps.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it, Jenny?"

This. This was what she was afraid of when she woke up this morning. The titular moment that she would have to acknowledge.

"You never were one for talking about things Jethro, why start now?" It's an attempt to lighten the mood, but her joke falls short.

There's something in his eye that she doesn't quite recognize, a look she's never seen him wear in all the years she's known him. It scares her and she can't place why.

"Fine." He says, tone harsher than before. It makes her cringe, "keep the FBI out of my case, _Director_."

Her door slams shut without another word.

With a long sigh, her gaze drops to the coffee in front of her. She knows, logically, that she would regret having slept with him the night before. That she should have known better than to let down her guard and cave into the tension that always seemed to have been there. She knows she should regret all of it.

What scared her is that she didn't, no matter how much she tried.

* * *

**A/n: A few disclaimers: I have a vague idea of where I want this story to go. The title will play a bigger role in this as the plot progresses, and basing it around what Locus Amoenus means, so we're going to see where this goes.**

**if you have any ideas/suggestions of how you want the story to progress, make sure to drop a comment. As always, your reviews are much appreciated.**


	2. The Almost Talk

Her headache had stayed almost the entire day, morphing at times from a dull ache to a stabbing pain and back again. All she had really wanted since arriving that morning was to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep.

Which is why when clock in her office struck 6pm, she was more than ready to hurry home.

The winter hours caused sunset to fall just after 5 o'clock, resulting in the city being doused in darkness by the time she even thinks about leaving. Despite this, she assured her security team that she could manage on her own and that an escort to her home every night would be nothing more than a waste of resources.

After buttoning her coat and wrapping her scarf around her neck she goes to turn off the lamp she has perched at the corner of her desk when she catches sight of the empty coffee cup from this morning, still sitting to the side on the coaster she had sat it on hours before.

She knows that perhaps she was a bit to harsh. He was right after all, she couldn't avoid talking about what happened forever. But talking about it would mean expressing her feelings on the situation, and she hadn't quite navigates those yet.

As her luck would have it, he was still sitting at his desk, the bullpen empty except for him.

She inwardly sighs. Of course. Of course he was still here.

"Closed the case." He says, not bothering to look up at her as she makes her way down the steps.

"And?" She inquires, stopping at his desk despite her better judgement.

He glances up, "Ex-wife did it. Got mad when she realized he was dating someone else and snapped."

She nods, "And the FBI? Step on your toes any today?"

He shakes his head, "Not the guy they were looking for. Like I said, evidence they presented was slim."

A soft smile graces her lips, "Glad to hear that, Jethro."

The moment his name escapes her, something in his eyes changes. She sees it happen, and it worries her that for once, she can't place what he's thinking.

"Back on a first name basis, Jen?"

She sighs, "You're never easy, are you?"

He offers her a grin, "Never."

With that, he stands and grabs the coat he has draped on the back of his chair, closing the case file he had been reading as he does.

"It's dark," he says, "and since you're to stubborn to let a security detail escort you, I'm walking you to your car."

She opens her mouth to argue, to tell him that she's perfectly capable of making it to her car unharmed, and that given the circumstances they were under, being alone together wasn't ideal.

But instead, she holds her tongue. When it came to him, picking her battles was worth it, and this was one she didn't want to take part in.

She fiddles with the hem of her coat during the elevator ride, an attempt to distract herself from looking at him. He had an effect on her, a power to make her loose sight of what was considered the proper decorum for a boss and her employee.

But she knew better than to pretend that's all they were.

"Nice coat," he comments as the doors slide open, "reminds of the one-"

"Yeah." She cuts him off. She knows the one, no need to open that can of worms right now.

A chill runs through her when his hand grazes the small of her back as he leads her through the parking lot. She mentally kicks herself when it happens. This right here is why she went against her better judgement the night before. He had an effect on her just by a simple touch, and she both loved and hated it.

"You're mad."

The bluntness of the statement catches her off guard.

"I'm not mad," she tells him, because she truly isn't, "I think it was a poor decision on both of our parts, but I could never be mad about it."

When they reach her car, she turns to fully look at him, back pressed against the drivers side door. He leans into her space, arm outstretched with his hand pressed against the glass of the window. Effectively popping the bubble of propriety she had been trying to maintain.

"Was it really the wrong choice? Or is that what you're just telling yourself?" It's a challenge and she knows it.

"I had said there was no off the job my first day here." She retorts.

The corner of his mouth flicks up into a mischievous smirk, "Funny, cause that's not how you made it sound last night."

She can feel the blush creeping up on her, "I never said-" she pauses, debating her next choice of words, "I never said I didn't enjoy it."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm your boss," she says, "And you're my employee. People will talk. It's bound to end poorly for the both of us, and I can't risk doing that to you again."

It's the first time she's acknowledged the hurt she caused him when she left, she realizes. It still causes a twinge of pain in her chest.

She wasn't prepared for his free hand to settle on her hip, and she lets out a contented sigh before she can stop herself.

Damn that man.

"Don't know until you try." He mutters, leaning in a bit closer to her.

She knows that everything about this position is the farthest thing from appropriate for a boss and her employee.

"We're a recipe for disaster Jethro." She whispers.

He dips his head towards her, dangerously close now and she prays that no one else is in the parking lot to see what she thinks is about to happen.

She wants to scream in frustration when he pulls back with a coy smile.

"Night, Jen."

With that he leaves her, making his way through the dark of the parking lot.

It takes her a full minute or so to recover before she has the sense to get into her car. The wind is still blowing and it's beyond cold outside. Not that she had noticed in the last few minutes.

When she's safely inside the warmth of her vehicle, she lets out a groan and leans her head back against the seat. If only he knew.

It wasn't that she didn't love him. It's because she did.

And that scared her.


	3. The Locus Amoenus

The next few days went by in relative peace. She had been avoiding Gibbs as much as she possibly could, though she would never admit the fact aloud. If anyone had asked, she simply had to much work to do and didn't have the time to be any more sociable than strictly necessary.

Nothing was meant to last forever, though. When she made her way out of the elevator early that Friday morning, she was greeted by the smiling face of Abby, who stood in front of Gibbs team, bouncing slightly on her toes as she spoke.

The man himself though was no where to be found, and she was grateful.

"Morning Director!"

Jenny couldn't help but return the younger woman's smile. There was something about Abbys happiness that was infectious.

"Morning Abby."

She makes a move to continue towards the steps, but stops at the sound of Tony's voice.

"Why don't you ask the director, Abs?"

She glances between the two of them, eyebrow slightly raised in question.

"Sure," she says, "Have you ever heard of Locus Amoenus?"

She racks her brain for any memory of the phrase, but she comes up short.

"I have not."

"It's Latin," Abby explains, "It's sort of the idea of a personal paradise; like your own garden of Eden. The actual meaning gets a bit deeper, but it's essentially your idealistic happy place."

"Ah," she says, "and I take it you were all discussing your own versions."

Abby nods, "Yeah. For example, Ziva said hers was any place that she didn't have to hear Tony run his mouth about movies, or girls, or cars."

She glances behind Abby and towards Ziva, who's perched on the edge of her desk with a coy smile, and she can't help but laugh at the mossad agents antics.

"What about you, Director?" Abby says.

The question threw her. A personal paradise? She never gave something like that much thought. A happy life? Sure. But her own garden of Eden? Never even crossed her mind.

"I don't know," she admits, because she really doesn't, "I suppose I would have to take some time to really think about it."

Abby doesn't get a chance to respond, the dinging of the elevator cuts her off instead. Her heart rate shoots to a mile a minute when she realizes who's most likely on that elevator.

"Gibbs!" Abby practically shouts, "Locus Amoenus?"

He brushes past Jenny without as much as a glance towards her, and for a moment she feels a pang of something in her chest. Hurt, maybe?

She supposes he's hurt too.

He's shrugging off his coat when he answers, "Mexico."

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he already knew what 'Locus Amoenus' was. He was nothing if not surprising.

Abby shakes her head, "How did I already know that would be your answer."

The chatter between them shifted from the overarching question into the semantics of why Mexico was either the best paradise or the worst, and she decided this would be the best time to faze herself out of the conversation.

She makes the mistake of looking back though as she made her way up the steps. He was staring at her with an intensity that created a whole new wave of butterflies in her.

After all, she might not know what her Locus Amoenus is, but she knows for sure that he's there.


	4. The Night Of

The night that became the catalyst for this whole mess replayed in her mind more often than she'd like to admit.

It all started with a bottle of bourbon and really, she should have known then and there it couldn't have ended well.

He had shown up to her office that night with a bag of takeout and a far off look in his eye. It was only then that she remembered what the day was: the anniversary of Kate's death.

She supposed she should have remembered. But then again, she had acquired a lot of death dates in her head over the years. It was hard to keep track.

So she sat with him, doing most of the talking to keep him occupied and his thoughts away from his demons. She went over mundane things: cases of other agents, conflicts with other agencies, anything to keep the conversation flowing and the heavy silence away.

When she pulled out the bottle from her personal stash she had hidden in her office, it was all down hill from there.

They were each three glasses deep each when he leaned over and kissed her.

She should have pulled away then and there, told him that she meant it when she said no off the job and tried to forget the ordeal entirely.

But she was warm from the alcohol and her decision making portion of her brain was cloudy, and so she leaned into it.

"We shouldn't have done that." She had muttered with way less conviction than she would have liked.

"I know." He tells her, before leaning back in and doing it all over again.

When he brought his hand up to cup the left side of her face, thumb stroking her cheek bone, she was done for.

She's not entirely sure of the in between. Who's idea it was to leave and go back to his house, how they had the sense or self control to drive separately but dangerous fast all the same. What happened between the time they exited their cars and the front door.

What she did know was that when she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she was sprawled out on the opposite side of his bed. It took her a full minute to recollect what happened. She knew of course where she was the moment her eyes opened; she'd been there too many times before when they were together to not know.

Both he and the sun had yet to wake up, and so she took the opportunity to slip out from under his covers and to silently gather her clothes from where they were scattered among his bedroom. Her coat was crumpled into a forgotten heap on the floor just beyond the front door, and she realizes they hadn't been able to wait until they made it upstairs.

There was a guilt consuming her and she got dressed; a nagging in the back of her mind of how he would react when he woke up to find the left side of his bed empty. She hoped against all hope that he understood, that he knew she had to go home and collect herself and face the new day.

After gently closing the door and getting hit with a wave of cold air, she walked to her car, head hung low.

"I'm so sorry Jethro." She had said, more to herself than anything.


	5. The Coffee Cup

A week and a half passed before she arrives to work to find another cup of coffee on her desk.

She tries to sort out his intentions. A peace offering? It's plausible. They did understand each other in terms of caffeine dependency if nothing else. An attempt at swaying her stance on their relationship? Another contender, but Jethro Gibbs has never been one for wooing and she doubts he's going to start now. Lord knows she would have to persuade Ducky to check his cognitive function if that were the case.

The coffee is a blessing though, and she tries not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She has a two hour meeting with in MTAC that she'll need to be well caffeinated to get through.

She makes the mistake of looking over to his desk as she makes her way across the catwalk just in time to see his hand collide with the back of Tony's head. She had to surprise a laugh; it seems like yesterday she had been on the receiving end of his infamous head slaps.

When he looks up at her, eyes bouncing from the coffee in her hand to her, a flush of warmth washes over her.

The affect he had on her was unprecedented, and she knew given the right circumstances she would give into him all over again. No matter how much she tried to deny it, one thing was certain: he was the love of her life.

It scared her.

* * *

"Leaving?"

He had looked up from his desk when he heard her making her way down the steps. The bullpen was mostly empty, save for them and a few cleaning crew members, and she didn't know whether to be spiteful or thankful of that fact.

"No Jethro," she says with an eye roll, "I thought I'd take a stroll through the halls with my coat and scarf on at 7 o'clock at night."

He chuckles at her, and she can't help but laugh too.

"Smart ass." He mutters.

The words slip out of her mouth before her rational judgment can stop her.

"Walk with me?"

If he's surprised by her request, he doesn't let on.

"Sure that's a good idea, Jenny?" He says, though he's already grabbing his coat and flipping off the lamp at his desk as he does.

"No," she answers truthfully, "but I'm not sure about much these days."

It's perhaps the most honest she's been both herself and him in a long time.

They remain silent while he buttons his coat and gathers what few belongings he carries around. She thinks that there would be a tension in the silence, but is relieved to find there is none. They can slip into a level of comfort without even trying, she realizes.

She feels the back of his fingers brush hers while the stand to wait for the elevator. She writes it off as a fluke at first, thinking it was just a result of them standing side by side.

But when she feels his hand lightly grasp hers, she knows it was all too purposeful on his part.

Every bit of rational thinking in her head tells her to pull her hand away, but she can't bring herself to do it.

Instead she follows him into the elevator, hand in hand, where they still wait in silence as it descends to the ground floor.

She inhaled sharply when she feels his thumb gently stroke the backs of her fingers, and can't help but close her eyes at the sensation.

When the elevator dings, he lets go.

"After you." He simply says when the doors open, and she feels to dizzy from his touch than to do anything other than step out from the elevator.

"Thank you." She says when they reach her car, because she's scared if she says anything else something will slip out she can't take back.

"Anytime, Madam Director."

She snorts, "Still haven't read that memo, Jethro?"

"Elected not to listen to it."

She laughs, air cold enough around her that she can see the heat of her breath as she exhales, but she's still too warm from their interaction in the elevator to notice.

"You're incorrigible."

His mere presence throws all of her rational thinking for a loop, and so she reaches up and places her palm on his cheek, pressing a kiss to the opposite side of his face.

It's quick and chaste and makes her heart flutter all the same.

"Goodnight, Jethro."

He gives her a smile, the tenderness in his eyes almost making her knees buckle entirely.

"Night, Jen."

When she gets into her car she drops her head against the steering wheel.

She was screwed.

* * *

**A/n: R&R please, reading your comments really does make my day so much, it would be one of the best Christmas gifts to check back and see your guys thoughts. I hope you enjoy either way. **


	6. The Breaking Point

Jenny Shepard was built to handle a lot of things.

Her father had said once, year before she had even fathomed joining NCIS, 'that's why we have broad shoulders, so we can carry that weight'.

Being director made good use of that talent. The discipline for multitasking, balancing her duties as director, delegating her subordinates, being a working woman in a mans world, they were all things she could handle when stacked on top of each other.

Almost two weeks had passed since the night they fell into bed together; and another full week was on the horizon from when their stunt in the elevator had occurred. They hadn't seen much of each other since. He was wrapped up in a particularly grueling case and she had spent most of her time delegating their foreign faction units. Despite all the work that came along with it, it had been a blessing in disguise. She hadn't had the time to wade through the mess of feelings she was entangled in, and it was strangely comforting.

Of course, all good things eventually come to an end.

The proverbial straw that broke the camels back came in the form of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He had came storming into her office that day, door slamming so hard behind him she's certain it must have rattled the whole building. They hadn't even made it five minutes before they were screaming.

"You know damn well that case should have stayed under NCIS, _Director_."

This man was one big headache for her.

"The FBI presented substantial evidence," she retorts. She's trying her best to keep her voice level but she can't help but raise her voice back at him, "That case fell under their jurisdiction, I can't undermine their director."

"Can't, or won't?" He challenges.

She doesn't even entertain answering the question, "And now I'm going to have to get my ass chewed out by not only their director, but SecNav and whoever else decides to take a stab at my agency because my agents can't follow orders."

He should count himself lucky he didn't decide to bring her a cup of coffee today, because she most certainly would have hurled it at his head by now.

"Cracked it, didn't we? The FBI wouldn't have that solved for months, but that doesn't matter does it? We caught the perp and all that matters is that some hotshot Director is going to step on your toes." He yells, hands balling into fists as he tries to contain his anger.

"You just don't know how to leave well enough alone do you?" She fires back, "Or do you just like making my life hard?"

"I make your life hard? I'm not the one playing games."

It hit her full force what he was turning this into.

"No," she steps closing to him, staring straight into his eyes, "This is not about us."

"Isn't it?" He challenges, "Do you give all your agents this kind of shit, or just the ones you sleep with? I made a call that put a killer in jail, that's it. I doubt you would pull this with anyone else in your agency that did that same thing."

It's taking every once of her self will not to hit him in that moment.

"This isn't about us," she says again, conviction in her voice faltering some and she mentally kicks herself as she hears it happen, "That is _not_ the conversation we're having."

He snorts, "What conversation? You sure don't want to talk about it. I've pissed off the FBI more times than I can count, so tell me Jen, why now are you so keen on pulling me in here to reprimand me? You can't stop thinking about what happened and you're too much of a coward to acknowledge it."

She wants to scream, or cry, or perhaps a mixture of both out of the frustration this man causes her. She was a lot of things, but cowardly was not one of them.

Right?

"Get out."

There's a part of her that's immensely satisfied when she sees the look of surprise wash over him. He clearly wasn't expecting that.

"What?"

"Get. Out." She repeats, "Of my office. I'm going to go clean up your mess and hope that I don't get punished for it."

He shakes his head, "Yeah, fine, whatever Jen. That's all you've ever cared about. You care about your job so much that you can't care about anything else. I get the memo, _Director_."

There's a momentary halt on her anger as she realizes what he's implying.

"Jethro-" she tries, but he cuts her off by slamming the door.

An ache spreads through her chest as the realization that he may just truly believe she didn't care about him overtakes her. How could ever think that?

Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.


	7. The Game Change

She had opened a new bottle of bourbon the moment she got home that evening.

It had sleeted most of the day, the ground freezing with every hour that passed and she couldn't help but wonder if the universe knew she was having a bad day and decided to tack on unbearably cold weather to top it all off. It wouldn't surprise her at this point.

Four hours is how long she had been stuck in MTAC, most of that time spent being ripped a new one for not controlling her agents and allowing Gibbs and his team to interfere FBI investigations. She had tried to draw attention away from the means of how they solved the case to justify the end result, but it did little to lessen their frustrations.

"Damn it." She muttered to herself, all but slamming her half empty glass down on her desk.

She had resented a lot about their conversation, mostly his accusation that the argument they were having was about them and not about his recklessness as an agent.

It may not have started out about them, but he certainly made sure it ended that way.

Worst of all, everything he said had been true. She was a coward.

Getting off the plane all those years ago, leaving the other morning without a word, refusing to talk about it with him, even the stunt they pulled in the elevator by holding his hand. She was a coward when it came to all of it. She could barely let him touch her without completely loosing all control around him, and it scared her.

It seemed like she just couldn't stop hurting him.

The rest of that day had gone on without a sighting of him. Whether he had left all together after their encounter or had just been hiding elsewhere, she couldn't say, but the sympathetic look Tony had shot her when she had walked by that afternoon told her all she really needed to know. She should have suspected that half the building heard their shouting match; they never were really good at controlling themselves around each other.

She considers calling Abby to see if the younger woman had heard from him, but knows she's all to loyal to Gibbs to really reveal anything she actually wanted to know.

It takes her all about five minutes after she finished her drink to decide to call him.

"Pick up." She muttered, "pick up, pick up, pick up."

Her heart sank when she reached his voicemail.

It was a breech of Rule 3: Never be unreachable.

Which meant that he was ignoring her phone call all together. If there was one thing that she knew about Jethro Gibbs, it was that he would never break his own rules without reason. She just never thought she would be that reason.

Of course, rule 12 had been made because of her too.

_It was early 1999 when she first told him she loved him. The two of them had been tangled up in a Parisian hotel together, their undercover work completely out of their minds as they soaked in one another._

_"I love you." She had said, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of the sheets they all but knocked off the bed. She hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out of her kiss swollen lips before she could stop herself. _

_"Hit your head when you tripped earlier?" He teased, running his hand along her bare spine. _

_"I'm serious."_

_He kissed her instead of answering, her confession all but forgotten as she fell back into him. They didn't talk about much else for the rest of the night. _

She rings him again though, just to be sure, but when it to goes to voicemail she knew her suspicions were all too true. He was ignoring her, a brand new level of anger even for them and it makes her stomach churn.

As she grabs her coat and keys, it crosses her mind that this is a bad idea, that going to see him will jeopardize every dynamic between them and that her job as director will be made infinitely harder if she gives into her feelings.

But when she catches sight of her empty glass forgotten on her desk, she realizes that she doesn't really care about those things anymore.

It was time to find her Locus Amoenus.

* * *

**A/n: This is more of a filler chapter than anything else, but I don't want to just rush them into anything without having the story develop in a way that relates to their journey as a couple. I have most of the chapters written out but I want this story to flow as nicely as possible. **

**Next chapter our two heroes will be reunited though, and you'll get a lot more interaction between them than in previous chapters. I wanted to create a conflict but not have it all resolved in a single chapter, because I think it rushes the story and stunts character development. **

**RR as usual, and Happy Holidays to you all. **


	8. The Chance Taken

The thought of alerting her security team of her whereabouts hadn't even crossed her mind until she was pulling up in front of his house, and at that point going through the hassle of letting them know would have caused more trouble for her than she was willing to deal with. Besides, the scandal it would have caused was too much of a headache to even think about.

The ground is slick with ice when she steps out of her car, and had she not been so determined to reach his front door without interruption she's certain she would have slipped.

She thanks whatever god is watching over her at the moment that in all the years she's known him he still hasn't changed his habit of not locking his front door.

The metal of the door handle is cold and stings her bare skin when she reaches for it. Her gloves lay somewhere discarded in her home; she had been too focused on getting in her car and rushing over here to have remembered to grab them.

Her mind becomes too fuzzy when he's the subject of her thoughts. She's infected by the idea Jethro Gibbs and it shows.

When she enters, careful to not slam the door behind her lest he think she's an intruder, the house is unsettlingly quiet. For a moment she considers that he's left all together, gone somewhere else to clear his head, but when she catches sight of the light fluttering in from the cracked door of the basement she knows where he's retreated too.

She finds herself rushing down the steps a bit quicker than strictly necessary, her heels clacking loudly against the wood as she does. She blames on the adrenaline pumping through her over what she's about to do for her rushing. Enough time has been wasted between them.

He's leaning against the countertop when she gets to the bottom, expression too much of a mixed bag for her to begin decipher at that moment. He's caught off guard by her sudden appearance, that much she does know.

"What do you want Jen?"

There's a coldness to his tone that she can't quite place, though she can't blame him in the slightest for it.

"You."

In an instant, she's holding his face between her winter chilled hands, frozen fingers grasping desperately at him as she presses her lips to his. It's rough and sloppy and not at all coordinated but she doesn't care one bit. He smells like sawdust and bourbon and something so distinctly him and it makes her weak at her knees.

"I'm so sorry Jethro."

Her coat and hair was damp from the sleet, her body shivering from a mixture of the cold and her nerves as she says it to him.

"I'm so sorry." She muttered again, words repeated like a mantra she hopes he can understand. Her forehead is pressed against his and she kisses him again as she speaks, whispering apologies against his lips with her own.

Her heart all but stops when he takes her hands in his own, separating the two of them just enough that he can fully look at her.

"What happened?" He asks, looking her up and down to take in her disheveled appearance. She can only imagine how she must look at the moment: clothes wet as a result of the weather, eyes glassy from the bourbon, hands shaking from the cold.

She shakes her head, "I got my ass handed to me I didn't care. They tore me and my ability to lead apart, and all I could think about was this. You're right, I am a coward. I'm too afriad to admit to myself that I want this. But I'm done. Done running, done pretending. I will never be able to not want to have this with you, Jethro."

He's searching her eyes for something and it makes her heart pound harder against her chest and for a moment she's convinced he's going to tell her to get out, that she showed up just a little too late and she missed her shot at being happy with him.

"And your no off the job rule? You can't want this then try to undo it later, Jen. I won't let you do that."

She shakes her head, "I'd say that we already have crossed that of which we cannot undo long before right now. I'm not that strong Jethro. I never was, not when it came to this."

He's staring so intensely at her that she begins to worry coming here was a mistake, that she could never truly repent for leaving him before. She thinks that, perhaps, she had lost her chance all those years ago when she stepped off that plane.

All her fears fizzle away when he grabs her and roughly pushes her up against the counter. His lips are on hers and his hands are impatiently yanking at her coat, and it's only when he manages to get it off her that he lifts her up. Instinctively, she wraps her legs tightly around his hips and allowed him to carry her up the steps.

The last concrete thought she has before he renders her completely inept is that this was all she wanted.

* * *

**A/n: I don't like this chapter. I like the idea of it, but I don't like its execution. Maybe after sitting on it for a few days I'll think differently. I hope at least you guys like it, our two heroes have finally been reunited for some actual action and not just past tense stories. **

**I hope you guys R&R and let me know if you're liking this story so far. Depending on how you guys respond I may stretch it out a few more chapters than I originally planned, but it's all up to you guys. **

**With Love, - Ali **


	9. The Blissful Place

She had heard of 'post coital bliss' before, but this. _This. _

This was something entirely new.

It had been her motivation to hold off on any type of activity until after they were able to talk but really, she was kidding herself to think that they would be able to keep their hands off each other long enough for that to happen.

Blessed with the knowledge that they had just entered the infant hours of Saturday and wouldn't have to get up to work, they were lazily sprawled out in his bed, neither making a move to get up anytime soon.

Her hair was splayed out against the pillow, damp with sweat and knotted in places from where his hands had tangled themselves in it. The comforter was draped partially over the two of them and he was tracing lazy circles along her upper back. It made her sigh in contentment more times than she could count.

The motion would most likely lull her to sleep though, and there was still a real conversation to be had between the two of them, and so she rolled herself over to fully face him, a soft smile on her lips as she does.

"Hi."

He laughs lightly, "Hi."

She brings a hand up and rubs her fingers against his jawline, the beginnings of stubble scratching against her finger tips.

"If we're going to do this," She tells him, "It can't be like last time."

He's quiet for a moment before responding, "I never asked before," he says, "Why you left, I mean."

She almost laughs at the absurdity that a three letter word can throw her for such a loop. Why. Why. Why.

"I didn't know then Jethro," she finally settles on as she removes her hand from him and tucks it under her, "you were still married, chaotic as that relationship was, and you never said it back, and I wanted the job. I didn't know how much you really cared about me. Not then."

"Jenny-"

"No," she cuts him off, because she needs to get it off of her chest before she looses her nerve, "I know you aren't the best at talking about your feelings. God knows I'm not really either, but I told you I loved you and I didn't know if you loved me back. I had a five point plan, and there wasn't room for someone who didn't want to be with me fully. And back then? You wouldn't have been, and we'd be kidding ourselves to believe otherwise."

He's quiet for a bit, and she thinks for a moment that perhaps she's said too much at once. But then again, he did ask. There wasn't much room for anything other than honesty this time.

"Wasn't ever good at the whole talking thing," he says after a bit, "I thought you knew. But I wasn't the only one holding back."

In any other scenario she would have taken it as more of an accusation than anything. But he was right. There were parts of her that she never showed to him, just like there were things he never said. They both had skeletons in their closets that they didn't want the other to see. She should have known that one day it was going to come back around and bite them.

"I know. God Jethro, we really were a disaster from start to finish back then."

"And now?" He asks, twirling a lock of red hair around his finger. There's an intimacy to this that they didn't have the last time; an adoration in his eyes that's all completely new to her.

"I want to do this for real. I can't handle having this and then not having it. I thought I could go back to however it was before that night weeks ago, but I can't. I want to figure out how we can make this work, how _I_ can make this worth. My willpower around you isn't that strong."

He chuckles a bit, "Feeling is mutual, Jen."

She smiles softly at him.

"I love you," she whispers, because she does and she can't pretend like she doesn't, "I wish I didn't some days, but I can't help it. You're it for me. I knew it then and I know it now. I've never met anyone who comes close to you for me."

She waits for a response, but when he gives her nothing other than an adoring look she continues, "I know Shannon was the love of your life, and I never want to take that from you. But I need to know this time that you feel the same way; that you want this as much as I do."

She worries that the mention of his first wife would cause him to retreat from her. That maybe bringing Shannon's name into the picture was going to far, but all he does is smile at her.

"Didn't think I'd be able to have that again after I lost her," he says after a bit, "But didn't expect to meet you either. I have that again, you gave me that."

She's sure she's smiling like an idiot at this point, but she doesn't care.

"It's not going to be easy. I'm still Director and you're still my agent. We're going to have to learn how to separate our jobs and this, and there are things we're going to have to work through, and we're both stubborn, but I'm willing to figure it out this time. No more running."

He nods, soft smirk playing at his lips and it occurs to her that she's never seen him so gentle with another human, "No more running."

With a smile and a contented sigh, she rolls over onto her side again, facing away from him as a wave of exhaustion hits her. He pulls the covers fully up over them, his hand reclaiming its place on her back in he process. He glides his fingertips up and down her spinal column in soft motions, soothing her slowly into a state of utter bliss.

She's on the brink of sleep when she hears him.

"Love you too, Jen."


	10. The Morning Light

The morning light trickles into the room through his partially closed windows, rousing her from her sleeping state. It takes her a few moments to recount the previous nights events.

She reaches her arm out to the other side of the bed as the memories come flooding back, feeling around for him only to find the bed empty and the sheets cold.

It's then she sits up and takes a moment to drink in her surroundings. The disheveled sheets, her discarded heels by the door, his lack of a presence, the slight headache she has from one to many glasses of bourbon. She can't even think of the last time she slept past sunrise, let alone this late in the morning.

Jethro Gibbs did strange, strange things to her.

She can't help but smile as she sinks back down into his bed, inhaling deeply as she does. This right here was where she was wanted to be, despite all the mountains and hurdles that were ahead.

There's a part of her that debates going back to sleep; she's entirely too comfortable in his bed but her curiosity of his whereabouts pricks the back of her mind enough that she decides against it.

Her clothes are in disarray around his bedroom. Half of what she was wearing was no where to be found. If she had to guess, she would say there is a trail of clothing leading from his basement to his bedroom, but that piece of her memory is more abstract feelings than concrete memories, so she really can't be sure.

After giving up on getting dressed in her own clothes, she makes herself comfortable in one of his NIS shirts before wrapping the sheet around her body. Despite the warmth of his bed, the house itself was inexplicably chilly even during the winter months.

The moment she opens the bedroom door she's hit full force with the scent of coffee, and it perks her up even more as she makes her way carefully down the steps.

She finds him sitting at his kitchen table, sipping at his coffee while absentmindedly flipping through a file of sorts. Work, she presumes.

"Good morning." She says, padding softly into the kitchen.

He looks up as she enters, "Morning," he nods towards the counter, "made coffee."

"Thank god," she says, making her way towards it, "I need my caffeine fix for the day."

He flips the file shut and turns to look at her over his shoulder.

"Something keep ya up last night, Jen?" He teases.

She rolls her eyes, "A certain special agent who doesn't know how to pace himself, is all."

He lets out a laugh, "Yeah, I'm the one who can't pace themselves."

The urge to roll her eyes come back and she has to restrain herself from repeating the motion, opting just to shake her head in amusement instead because really, who was he trying to fool. She could pace herself just fine.

"Whatever you say, Jethro."

When she's finished pouring herself her coffee, she turns to face him, blushing as she sees the playful look on his face. How had it been only a day ago they were screaming at each other in her office?

It's then she decides to perch herself in his lap, laughing lightly at the surprised look on his face.

She acts as casual as possible, leaning softly back against him and sipping her coffee, blissfully ignoring the fact that she's acting like a love struck teenager instead of a woman her age.

"Feeling a bit bold today, Jen?" He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to her exposed neck and she shivers at the sensation. Oh the affects that man had on her.

"Perhaps." She answers with a smile before taking a drink of her coffee.

They fall into a comfortable silence, she taking slow sips of her coffee and he running his hand up and down the length of her still sheet covered forearm.

It's downright preposterous that position they're in: her sitting on his lap like they weren't grown adults. She tries to recount the last time she dropped her all-work-no-play Director facade, but her memory comes up short.

The longer she sat though, more thoughts flooded her mind and she begins to worry about their choices in the last 24 hours.

"Are we doing the right thing Jethro?" She asks, "When Monday comes around we're going to have to go back to work and pretend like this isn't happening, and I can't even imagine the scandal this is going to cause if the scuttlebutt about it gets around-"

He cuts her off, "You always do so much worrying first thing in the morning?"

His words cause her to freeze for a moment, "You're right," she laments, "I'm thinking to much. I just don't want us to fall down the same destructive patterns as before."

"Well," he says, "We're not hiding in a Parisian attic for one, I'd say that's a start."

She snorts, "You day it like you didn't enjoy being laid up in bed all day."

He quirks up an eyebrow, "You making suggestions, Jen?"

She knows that really, she should be getting home. If nothing else so she can grab a change of clothes and a shower, but she'd be kiddng herself if the offer didn't sound tempting. It had been too long since she's been able to enjoy the company of a man, and he was something special.

Instead of providing him a direct answer, she simply sits her now empty coffee cup on the kitchen table and stands, letting the sheet she had wrapped around her slither to the floor as she does. She's still wearing just his shirt and she knows darn well it has an affect on him.

"I guess you'll have to find out, Agent Gibbs."

She's only a few steps down the hall before she feels him grab her by the waist and twist her to face him.

He kisses her hard on the mouth and she decides then and there that this is what bliss feels like.


	11. The Typical Things

There's a nervousness in the pit of her stomach that could rival the anxiety she felt her first day as director.

She would be lying is she said she slept well the night before; a the worry of what was to come the following morning plagued her mind most of the night.

Memories of being a probie on his team swim around in her head. The sneaking around they had to do, the looming fear of being caught by their team or, god forbid, Director Morrow. The stakes were high then, but they've reach catastrophic heights this time.

Most of the remainder of the weekend had been spent either in bed or lounging somewhere around his house. The casualness of their time together was something entirely foreign to her. It had been years since she had simply enjoyed another persons company.

She had arrived at the building a little past 5am, a good two hours before he would make his appearance. Her best tactic was to carry on like they hadn't rekindled whatever flame was between them, and that meant feigning a cold shoulder towards him as a result of their argument the previous week.

She nearly screamed when she opened the door to her office to find him sitting at her desk, casually leaning back in her chair as if it was the most natural place for him to be.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" She chastises, peeling her coat off.

"Don't like surprises, Jen?" He teases, flipping through one of the files on her desk.

She shakes her head, "There a reason you're reading a file labeled 'confidential'?"

He smirks, "Aint that confidential if it's sitting out on your desk."

"You're incorrigible."

"Incorrigible?" He says, "That like doppelgänger?"

"You're a smart man, use context clues." She comes to stand in front of her desk, arms crossed, "Why, pray tell, are you in my office at 5:15 in the morning?"

"Just came to say hi."

She rolls her eyes, "You sneak in here at god knows what hour, almost give me a heart attack and don't even show up with coffee? I expect more from you."

He gives her a wicked grin, and reaches underneath her desk, producing a untouched cup of coffee.

She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of swooning (because good god this man makes her swoon) over his effortless surprised, so she merely glares at him instead. Still, she can't help the smile that plays at her lips.

"I'm still angry at you, Agent Gibbs, for your blatant disregard for our sister agencies jurisdictions when it comes to your case."

His eyebrow quirks up and he offers her a bemused smile, "All work and no play, Director? This office does something to you."

Despite herself, she smiles. "Work and personal life are separate, remember?"

"It's just you and I in here, Jen."

"Cynthia will be here in," she glances at her watch, "14 minutes, and she's never late."

He finally stands and makes his way around the desk until he's standing in front of her, "Lot of things can be done in 14 minutes."

It takes all of her self control to maintain a poker face in front of him, "We're at work, Jethro."

"Never stopped you before."

"I wasn't a director of a federal agency before, and it was reckless back then too." She counters.

She watches as he shakes his head, bemused smile still on his lips and she can't help but thank whatever high power was up there for leading her back to him; choices and five point plans aside.

"Got plans for today, Director?"

She snorts, "Not at all, I was just going to sit back with my feet up and let the agency run itself."

"Think you can make time for coffee in that busy schedule?"

She gives him an intentionally pensive look, "I have a meeting with SecNav at 0800, though I suppose I can have Cynthia pencil in a coffee break between that and my next meeting."

"Bureaucracy," he snorts, "All these meetings and everything stays as is."

She swats at his shoulder playfully, her agony expression cracking and a smile finally gracing her features, "I'll leave at 1200 sharp, follow me 15 later? The scuttlebutt would be atrocious if we left together."

There's a playful look in his eye that she can't quite place as he take another step closer to her. The space between them has dwindled into nothing and she's contemplating if she should make the first move when he beats her to the punch, planting a chaste but firm kiss to her lips.

She smiles against his, trying her best not to become fully lost in him.

"Cynthia will be here in two minutes." She whispers, pulling just far enough away from him to say it.

"Don't care."

She laughs, leaning forward to peck his lips one last time before creating a bit of distance between them much to the look of dismay he wore.

"I will see you at 12:30, Agent Gibbs. Don't be late, you know how I feel about punctuality."

She sends him out the door, smiling widely as she does. That man was going to be the death of her.

And she just might be okay with that.

———

Despite popular belief, Tony DiNozzo was much more observant than people tended to give him credit for.

There were certain patterns people followed and he had a knack for memorizing them, which made it all the more obvious when they deviated from them, even slightly.

Ziva was absentmindedly opening and closing her pocket knife, a habit she did when she was bored. Typical.

McGee, ever the good boy, was typing his case report at his computer, chewing at the end of his pen like he often did when he was deep in thought. Standard.

Gibbs had finished off his coffee and announced in very few words he was going to get more. Predictable.

When the elevator dinged, he presumed it would be the man in question stepping off, only find Jenny instead, cup of coffee in her hand a smile on her face.

_Wait_.

That wasn't normal.

He tries to recall the last time - if ever - he's seen the director look so relaxed and gleeful, but his memory comes up short.

He decides to test the waters.

"Good Afternoon, Director."

She had stepped in her tracks, turning to face him, smile still on her face. "Good to see you Tony," she says, "No case today?"

"Not today, don't jinx it for us."

She lets out a laugh. A honest to god giggle, if he's being truthful and it throws him for a loop.

"I'll try not to, DiNozzo."

He watches as she makes her way back up the steps towards her office, coat draped over one arm while she held her coffee cup, smile still on her face. Definitely not typical.

He doesn't think much of it though.

That is, not until Gibbs comes back from his coffee run, the slightest smear of maroon lipstick poking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Jenny's lipstick, to be more specific.

He could not wait to tell Abby.


	12. The Lipstick Incident

"No."

"Yes."

"_No_."

"I saw it, Abby. 100% yes."

He had came down to her lab at the first opportunity, brushing off the visit as a casual hello to his teammates. The less they suspected, the better.

"Aw," she says, "I'm so happy for my silver fox. It's about time he made a move."

"She's in a damn good mood," he tells her, "Gibbs is still Gibbs, but a slightly less grumpy version. You know what that means?"

A smile spreads across her face, "He's in love!"

"No Abby, not that." He says, shaking his head a bit dramatically. Can Gibbs even feel love? He can't begin to imagine was a love struck Gibbs looks like.

"It means they're both getting some, and as long as they're getting some they're going to be in a good mood. Gibbs in a good mood equals less head slaps for Tony."

Abby snorts, "Here I thought you were just happy for him."

"I am happy for him!" He exclaims, a bit more defensively than he intends.

"Happy for who, DiNozzo?"

If ever there was a skill he would like to acquire, it would be the ability to sense when Gibbs was behind him. He doubted he would cultivate that talent anytime soon, however.

"McGee, Boss." He says, looking to Abby for some form of backup, but the goth simply smiles at him wickedly, "Probie finally worked up the courage to ask out a girl he's been eyeing."

Abby raises an eyebrow at him, a bemused look on her face. He ignores her, trying his best to come off casual and he knows the moment he makes eye contact with Abby he's going to crack.

"That so, DiNozzo?"

He nods, "She shot him down boss, best not to bring it up. You know how sensitive McLoveless gets."

There's a look on Gibbs face that he can't quite place: somewhere between amused and annoyed, but he can't say for sure.

"Got a dead Marine in Fairfax, gear up."

He watches as Gibbs strolls out of the lab, breathing an audible sigh of relief when the doors slide shut.

"I hate when he does that."

Abby grins at him, "And he didn't even head slap you."

* * *

She hadn't seen much of him since their coffee break. Her schedule had been filled with an array of meetings and paperwork that needed to be looked over. By the time she even had a second to glance out over the bullpen, she found his desk empty.

A case, she had guessed.

Not wanting to raise any red flags, she refrained from calling him when she got home. There was a chance that he was still with his team and she didn't want to risk them finding out anything.

She can only imagine the field day DiNozzo would have if he found out.

In wake of her solitude, she perched herself at her desk with a stack of paperwork she hadn't finished going through earlier that day. Being director of a federal agency certainly had its perks, but the over abundance of files to review was one of its downfalls.

She was only three files deep when a knock at her door sounded through her home, effectively breaking the silence she had been working in. One glance at the clock told her it was just past midnight.

He surely would be the death of her.

"Jethro," she says when she opens the door, "You do know what time it is, don't you? My security detail will have a fit if they find out someone was banging at my door at this hour."

He snorts, gently pushing past her to enter. There's a bag of what she can only guess to be Chinese take out in his hand, something to butter her up into not being upset that he's showing up unannounced.

"Didn't hear you complaining the other night."

She locks the door behind him, "The other night I didn't have to get up at the break of dawn to run an agency. And knowing you, you'll keep me up half the night."

He smirks at her, a move that normally she finds infuriating but is more endearing in this moment.

"I'm just here for dinner," he gestures to the bag in his hand.

"Whatever you say, Jethro."

He follows her into the study, where she quickly closes the file she was actively working on and places them aside as pulls out their food and spreads it across the coffee table.

"Would have been here sooner," he tells her as she takes a seat on the couch, "But McGee drives like he's 95."

She laughs, "Could have let Ziva drive, she would have gotten you home quicker."

"I'd be coming home in a body bag if I let Ziva drive." He deadpans.

She laughs, because it's both ridiculous and true.

"Good point."

After that, they fall into a comfortable silence. There's a familiarity to the setting that reminds her of their nights in Europe. They didn't always need to speak to enjoy each other's company, a rare thing to come across.

She goes to ask him about his current case when her eye catches the slightest hue of red poking out from beneath the collar of his shirt.

"Jethro."

He turns his head slightly to face her, eyebrow quirked up, "Yeah, Jen?"

She reaches towards him, running her finger across the spot on his neck.

"I don't really think this is your color." She deadpans, holding up her hand for him to see the remains of her lipstick.

For a moment all he does is stare at her.

"Christ," he finally says, sitting his plate down on the table, "You got your lipstick on me."

She raises her eyebrow, amused look on her face, "I didn't hear you complaining at the time Jethro."

"Would've been screwed if the team would have seen it."

A laugh escapes her before she can stop herself, "Next time I won't wear any."

"Gonna be a next time?" He asks her, amused smile on his face. He was taunting her.

Oh, two can play at that game.

"You're awfully needy," she says, moving a bit closer to him, "And I know you don't have that much self control."

"I'm not the one who can't hold back enough not to get lipstick everywhere, Jen." There's a far off look in his eye and she knows then and there she's got him.

"I'm not wearing any right now."

She closes the remain distance between them, pressing her lips gently to the spot on his neck where her lipstick had resided.

It takes all of two seconds before he pushes her back onto the couch, pinning her beneath him and harshly pressing his lips to hers.

"See what I mean, Jethro?" She says, pulling away from him just enough to whisper it to him.

"Shut up Jen."

Looks like he would be keeping her up half the night after all.

* * *

**A/n: A happy New Year to you all :)**


	13. The Risky Move

It had been two weeks since the lipstick incident.

She had put a particular emphasis on balancing her work and personal life, and as a result her time between the two was split to the best of her abilities. When they had been partners one of the things that inevitably led to the downfall of their relationship was that they jumped too quickly, neither having concern for the inevitable crash that was going to come. Forward thinking had never been her forte when it came to him, and she wasn't about to let herself repeat the same mistakes as before.

To say that she was surprised by that he was proving to be more than difficult would be an outright lie. It was something she knew came with the territory, and if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Leroy Jethro Gibbs liked to push her buttons.

Her only saving grace had came in the form of distance; he and his team were working a little particularly grueling case in southern Virginia, resulting in his absence most of the day and throughout the evening for more than a week. It allowed her much needed space in order to sort out just how bad of an idea all of this was and just how much she truly didn't care.

Her morning was spent attending a series of meetings with their Las Angeles counterpart and a debriefing with SecNav on their operations abroad, subjects that ultimately took up her entire morning and part of her afternoon. By the time she was finished, there was an ache in her neck and a craving for coffee she just couldn't kick.

Cynthia has graciously penciled in a gap between her meetings, allowing her just enough time to slip out undetected and towards the coffee shop.

The elevator doors were just beginning to slide close when a hand reached in-between them, catching it just as it had been about shut completely.

He stepped into the elevator with a sly grin, hitting the door close button with his fist as he does.

"Fancy meeting you here, Director."

She snorts, "Who would have thought I would be here in my own agency."

"Usually hiding out in your office." He comments, nodding his head in its direction.

"Working, not hiding Jethro. Running an agency does take a fair bit of time, despite what you may or may not believe." She shoots back, attempting to sound stern but unable to keep the teasing tone from slipping its way into her words.

Predictably, the elevator grins to a halt when he flips the emergency switch.

"I'm going for coffee."

It was an invitation as much as it was a statement and she knew it.

"It might come off as inappropriate if someone were to see an employee sneaking away and getting coffee with their boss, Agent Gibbs."

"I'm not asking you as my boss, I'm inviting you as my-"

He abruptly cuts himself off, and it takes all her will power to hold back a laugh.

"Girlfriend?" She supplies, "Bit of a juvenile term, don't you think?"

He narrows his eyes at her, stepping close enough that she's forced to take a step backwards for the sake of propriety, effectively pinning herself against the wall in the process, "I was going to say partner."

"Ambiguous wording there."

"Ambiguous?"

The eye roll that follows his words doesn't seem to surprise him, "I'm investing in a dictionary for you, Jethro."

One of his hands is pressed against the wall behind her, his other coming up to dangerously fiddle with the hem of her blouse.

She reminds herself that despite the fact that they were alone in the elevator, the position is incredibly dangerous and puts them at insurmountable risk of ol being caught.

God, it thrills her.

"I'm wearing lipstick today." She warns.

His motions abruptly stop, lips hovering dangerously close to her exposed neck when he does. A tickle dances across her skin when he lets out a defeated sigh before dropping his forehead against her collar bone.

"You kill me, Jen."

Two of her fingers dip underneath his chin, raising his head up fully so she can look properly into his eyes, "Patience is a virtue."

Another, more frustrated sigh escapes him, "Never did like those."'

She grins wickedly, reaching behind him to flip the elevator switch back on.

"Quick coffee break," She affirms, "I have a meeting with the FBI's director in an hour."

"Wanna play hooky?" He teases, grin quickly replacing the pout he had been wearing moments before.

Her hands reach out towards his blazer, absentmindedly smoothing down its lapels against him, "My love for you does not negate my duties as director, Jethro."

It amazes her for a moment how easily the statement rolls off her tongue; as if she's been saying it for years. The feelings were old, but the vocalization of them was wonderfully new.

There's a warmth that washes over her when she sees the adoring look he gives her at the confession, and evey last bit of her rational thinking dissipates entirely.

She leans in an kisses him quickly, lipstick be damned.

"You're buying." She mutters against him, regretfully pulling away just as the doors slide open.

A hand brushes a stray piece of hair from her cheek bone, a motion that dances a bit too dangerously along the risk of exposing their relationship, but for a single moment she decides that she doesn't really care. Risk be damned.

This was her happy.


	14. The Finding Out

Paranoia was not a feeling the Jenny Shepard knew how to navigate.

She had dealt with a wide arrange of feelings before, spanning anywhere from fear to melancholy to anxiety, but never paranoia.

They had been careful this time, making sure that not a trace of lipstick or any other bit of evidence was left behind when they had returned to the agency. She knew they had made a clean return.

It was the look that Tony had given her when they had stepped off the elevator. She had made sure to look as professional as possible: an arm lengths amount of space between them, blouse rebuttoned up to her neck, conversation directed towards his case. Everything had fallen into place.

That was, except for knowing way Tony had watched them.

It crosses her mind that perhaps he had seen the lipstick those few weeks ago, but then again, she's certain that the last person to keep that under wraps would be DiNozzo. She's known him long enough to know he wouldn't pass up the chance to put his boss on the spot. Pointing out a lipstick mark would certainly give him the upper hand.

His voice startles her when it breaks through the web of concentration she had entangled herself in.

"There a reason you're up at 3 in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep." She responds, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, "I like to be productive if I'm going to be awake."

He snorts, strolling slowly into the room as he speaks, "Most people just roll over and close their eyes again."

"I'm not most people," She counters, "And I didn't want to disturb you with my restlessness."

"You used to be a heavy sleeper."

She had all but given up on the notes she had been writing and had began doodling along the margins of her notepad, "Evidently insomnia comes with the territory of being Director. I'm surprised Morrow didn't include it in the job description."

By the time she had finished he was standing in front of her desk, "Something is weighing on your mind."

Over the years she had tried to do everything in her power to be as unreadable as possible. Beginning during her time as a field agent when she would interrogate suspects, spanning all the way through her career. These days, she has to cultivate the skill in a different playing field. Suspected murderers were easy, but being a blank slate in the presence of seasoned politicians had been a whole new beast for her to tackle.

Still, she was good at what she did. She had learned to become exactly what she needed to be at any given moment in the face of anyone.

That is, in the face of everyone other than Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who knew how to read her like an open book.

"There is not."

"Jenny."

There something about the way he says her name that has always been her undoing.

"We have a situation."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She sucks in a deep breath, "DiNozzo knows."

It takes her a few moments of staring at her before he decides to answer, "DiNozzo knows what, Jen?"

"He _knows_, Jethro. About this. About us."

There's a dumbfounded look written on his face, "What, he told you he knew?"

She shakes her head, standing from her seat and making her way around her desk to face him, "He didn't say anything, but he looked at me."

"He looked at you?"

"When we got off the elevator, he looked at me and I knew that he knew."

"Jen" he says, running a hand over his face, "Are you trying to tell me you're up in the middle of the night because DiNozzo gave you a look? And now suddenly you're riding the conspiracy train of him knowing?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, taking a step closer, "I'm a trained investigator too, Jethro. Don't forget that. I know that he knows."

"Well," he says, "If he knows, then how come he didn't say anything? Tony isn't one for keeping quiet."

"Because he has no room to talk, he would be hypocritical."

She watches as the same dumbfounded look washes over him, and it takes a bit of her will power to hold back a laugh.

"Jethro," she says gently, "You do know that he and Ziva have been together for a while now, right?"

"WHAT?"

"_For the love of god Jethro."_

* * *

She had left her house in the early hours of the morning, waking him long enough just to tell him goodbye and to press a hasty kiss to the corner of his mouth.

There was something so refreshingly new about having someone to wake up to in the morning that delighted her in ways she didn't know existed. Her job, both as an agent and as Director, had been her only sense of happiness and accomplishment for so long, and being able to share that with another person was foreign but wonderful in more ways than she knew how to count.

Despite carrying the knowledge that Tony had found out about them, and that he was uncharacteristically keeping quiet about it, she had arrived to work that morning in a good mood. The temperature outside was unusually warm for a mid-winter day, and the sunshine outside seemed to chase out any gloom that seemed to linger.

She was surprised to find her assistant already there, perched at her desk and typing away at her computer.

"Good morning Cynthia," She said, "Here a bit early aren't you?"

There's a look on Cynthia's face that she can't quite read.

"Director," she says, voice uneasy, "SecNav is in your office."

She's so thrown by the statement that for a moment all she can do is stare blankly.

"He's here?" She stresses, "Why on earth is SecNav here?"

Cynthia shakes her head, "I don't know ma'am, but he brought the Deputy Director of the FBI with him."

She ran through her list every reason she could fathom as to why they could possibly be there, but her mind came up short. One thing did make itself clear to her: this couldn't be good.

"Cancel my morning appointments, Cynthia." She instructs, taking a deep breath before opening the door.

"Director Shepard," SecNav greets, standing from his seat the conference table, "This is James Monroe, Deputy Direct of the FBI."

She sticks her hand out, shaking his with a polite smile.

"Pleasure." She says, taking a seat.

"I'm sure you're wondering what we're doing here," SecNav starts, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table.

She nods, "The question did cross my mind."

She watches as SecNav glances to the man at his left before directing his attention back to her.

"We have a proposition for you."

* * *

**A/n: Can't have a story without conflict, am I right?**

**I apologize that it took me so long to post the previous chapter, I hit a bit of writers block and truthfully I don't like that chapter much at all, but I needed some filler before this one. I hope it was alright enough and that you all enjoy this one. **

**\- Ali **


	15. The Job Offer

"What kind of proposition?"

SecNav gives her a small smile, waving his hand dismissively, "Wipe that worried look from your face, Jennifer. You're not in trouble."

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "You'll have to pardon me Sir, its not every day I come into work to find my boss waiting for me in my office."

He nods, "I know my visit was sudden, but I didn't want to waste any time with this."

"With?" She inquires.

He clears his throat, "We've been reviewing your progress as Director. Internal budget spending is down, wait time

on cold case files are down, pending cases are being tackled and solved at twice the rate in comparison to previous years, staffing under you in consistent, HR complaints are down. To be frank, Shepard, you're doing a damn good job."

She would be lying if she said a tinge of pride didn't flow through her. She makes it a point to be humble when it comes to the things she has accomplished, and the notion that her achievements are being discussed so openly thrills her a bit.

"As much I love to listen to my own accomplishments, sir, I assume your reasoning for being here spans beyond just singing my praises." She says, straightening her posture as she sits.

He chuckles, "Right, of course. We 're here to discuss an offer."

"We?" She says, glancing to James, who hadn't yet said a word.

"We." He affirms, "Deputy Director Monroe here is moving his talents elsewhere, taking up a position in the CIA under a need to know department-"

She understood; she was not on that list of a need to know.

"-And we'd like you to take on the position of the FBI's Deputy Director." He finishes.

Of all things she had been expecting to hear him say, that was not one of them.

"Sir," She says after a moment of silence, trying her best to wrap her brain around what had just been said, "Are you sure my place is the FBI?"

SecNav takes a deep breath, leaning back against his chair, "To be very honest Shepard, you're a hell of an asset to this agency and I don't necessarily want to give that up, but if you feel that your talents would be better explored under the FBI, I won't stop you. The hope would be that you can help reform their crime division with the same success as you have ours."

"This is an awfully big offer to spring onto someone first thing in the morning, Sir. I've spent my entire career here, I don't think that's something I can give up on a dime."

He smiles at her, "Of course not."

"I won't be leaving for another month," James says, finally breaking the veil of silence he had been hiding behind, "And I wouldn't expect you to make a decision like that without a proper time table. There are a lot of things to consider, and we recognize that."

"End of the month," SecNav says, "And we need your final decision."

The Deputy Director smiles at her, "It's not a bad gig, Director." He tells her, "You get to dip your toes into a lot of case work and dictate a lot of what the agency does. The LA office isn't bad either."

The location name catches her.

"I'm sorry," She says, "LA?"

"The Deputy Director job is located in California." SecNav says.

Oh.

* * *

"Still here?"

She hadn't even flinched when the door to her office had opened. This late at night, there was really only one person it could be. Cynthia had long since left, and the only people there were the late night skeleton crew.

"We've been through this before," she says, "And I doubt you've learned what Doppelganger means yet."

He quirks up an eyebrow, "You don't looked pissed this time, so no."

"Mmm," she hums, "I'm just finishing up a few things, my meetings ran later than expected."

"You want dinner?" He questions.

She matches his inquisitive look, "Trying to woo me Jethro? I thought the coffee you were leaving me for weeks was your attempt."

He snorts, taking a few steps closer to her desk, "Don't need to woo you."

She gives him a smirk, "So all the coffee was for, what? Fun?"

He shrugs, "You like coffee."

"Careful there Agent Gibbs," She says, "People will think you're going soft."

"Are you gonna finish up your work or am I getting take out alone?"

"Tempting offer," She tells him, straightening the stack of papers in front of her, "Are you buying?"

He flashes her a grin, "I'm not the one on a Directors Salary, but I think I can spare the change. Chinese?"

Despite herself, a wide grin spreads across her. She spends most of her days mentally kicking herself when she's around. Perhaps its the newly reignited relationship between them, or the fact that she's essentially making up for lost time, or maybe she's just infatuated with him that she finds herself swooning over the way he looks at her.

She has to remind herself some days that she is a grown woman and not a love sick teenager.

"I could go for Chinese." She tells him with a smile.

After setting aside the papers she had been working on and straightening up the few folders scattered around her desk, she flips off the lamp she had on, grabbing her purse in the process.

When she looks up, he's holding her coat up for her with a smug grin.

"Very gentlemanly of you, Jethro." She remarks, making her way towards him.

"I'm not always a bastard, Jen."

He holds open the coat, gently helping her slide into it before pressing a kiss to the back of neck, and she can't help but hum in delight.

"Not office appropriate." She mutters, buttoning her coat.

"Don't see anyone here." He counters, spinning her around so he can face her, "Live a little."

She offers him a smile, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against his lips, "Home, get Chinese on the way, and then I will live on the edge."

He raises his eyebrows with a surprised look, "Gonna stay up on a work night Jen? You must really be wooed."

She rolls her eyes, ushering him out the door, "Let's go, Agent Gibbs."

When the cold air of the night hits her, her mind wanders to the sunny streets of LA, and for a moment she thinks about the job offer, of moving to a bigger agency across the country, and just how accomplished her career would be if she took the job.

But when she looks at the man walking beside her, his hand pressing lightly against the small of her back, her mind wanders back to the day on the plane.

What was she going to do?

* * *

**A/n: Big decisions to be made here by Jenny, stay tuned to see how this all plays out. R&R. **

**\- Ali**


	16. The Dinner Date

She wakes up to an empty bed that weekend.

In the years leading up to their reconciliation she had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. One night stands had never been on her radar, and the only person she had ever wanted to stay with her had been left behind with her coat and a letter.

It had amazed her how quickly she adapted to having another person sharing such an intimate space. Truly, it had felt as though no time had passed. Their sleeping habits around one another felt as natural as they had in Paris.

Still, she reveled in the mornings that she was able to have her bed to herself. The notion of not having to worry about waking him and the freedom to spread out however she pleased was always welcomed.

When she woke that morning, however, the bliss she normally felt quickly was replaced by menacing anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

The job offer.

It had been three days since SecNav had visited her. Three days since she had been asked to take the position. Three days since her head was thrown into a never ending spiral of confusion.

She was partly convinced that he possessed a sixth sense specifically designed to make her life complicated when the shrill cry of her cell phone cuts through the silence of the room.

The thought it was someone other than him calling at such an early hour in the morning wasn't something she bothered to entertain as she reached for her phone; he was the only person who would dare call her on a Saturday morning.

"Shepard." She greets, partly out of habit and partly to portray the facade that she hadn't just been struck with pang of delight at the notion of talking to him.

That man did things to her that she has never been fully able to comprehend.

"Jen," he says in lieu of a greeting, "You still in bed?"

His ability to know exactly what she was doing unnerved her at times.

"It is Saturday, Jethro. Not even wakes up before dawn to work on a boat." She deadpans.

She can hear him snort on the other end of the line, "You get up at 5am every morning, weekend or not."

"Perhaps I decided to change my routine just to spite you."

"Vindictive has never been your strong suit." He counters.

A grin finds its way to her lips despite herself, and for the first time that morning she finds herself able to relax, "Did you call just to discuss my sleeping habits, or is there a point we're getting too?"

"What are you doing tonight?" He replies gruffly.

The thought of Leroy Jethro Gibbs calling to ask her of her weekend plans is so wonderfully domestic that she can't help but laugh into the phone at the sheer hilarity of it all.

"I have a hot date," she replies, "A certain special agent is taking me out for dinner."

"Are they?" He inquires.

"Indeed," she tells him, "DiNozzo has wonderful taste in Italian restaurants from what I've heard."

There's a deafening silence that follows, and it takes all her self control not to laugh into the receiver.

"Jen."

The battle is quickly lost when she hears the tone of his voice.

"Honestly Jethro," she manages to say through her giggles, "for a federal agent you're awfully gullible."

"Red heads." She hears him grumble.

When her laughter finally subsides, she continues, "I am conveniently free of any type of Directoral duties today and have an impressively lackluster social life, since you're so curious."

"Dinner." He says, which was as much of a invitation as she was ever going to get from him.

"Are you asking me on a date, Jethro?"

There's a brief pause on his end before he speaks, "Bit old to call it dating, aren't we?"

"Careful who you call old Jethro," she warned teasingly, "Or you won't get any tonight."

The bluntness of the statement surprises even her, though judging by the abrupt silence on the other end of the line he was just as thrown by the statement.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He comments.

"Feeling is mutual. So, dinner?"

—————

They hadn't gone out anywhere, which was far from surprising to her. He was never one for upscale places if he could help it.

That, and it was an unspoken understanding that being seen in public together would blow the secret of their relationship to pieces, and neither were willing to deal with that fallout.

Dinner was served at his house, which he had picked up on the way to picking her up, a gentlemanly gesture that she wouldn't let go unrewarded.

She did give him credit; dusty mason jars had been swapped for actual glasses to serve their bourbon in, and he had splurged on purchasing to go food from her favorite restaurant. Everything was simple, but she could see the effort behind all of it.

It made her heart swoon, in every sense of the word.

She was perched on his basement steps after dinner, flipping idly through her book while he sanded his boat. It was a comfortable silence that engulfed her in a feeling of warmth. The night would be perfect, if it wasn't for the nagging words in the back of her head.

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.

"Jen."

She looks up, "Hmm?"

There's a smirk on his lips as he speaks, "Must be some book, I done said your three times."

"Oh," she says, looking back down at the page she was on. Truthfully, she hadn't read a word of it since she started thinking of LA and the job offer again.

"It's a bit more captivating then watching you sand." She offers, trying to play off her absentmindedness as best as possible.

"I asked if you wanted another drink."

She raises an eyebrow, "Trying to liquor me up, Jethro?"

He shrugs, "I opened my good bottle for this evening."

There it was, one of the things that she felt herself cling to about him. There was always such intentionality behind what he did. Perhaps Jethro Gibbs wasn't ever going to give her over the top grand gestures, but he gave her this. Moments.

"I suppose, since you put it that way." She settles on, flashing him a smile.

He sets down his sanders, brushing the sawdust of his hands before making his way towards the steps.

She expects him to reach down and grab the empty glass that sat on the step above her, but his hands dip beneath the crook of her bent knees and around her back and in an instant, she's being lifted up into his arms.

"Jethro!" She half hisses, dropping the book carelessly onto the steps so she can fasten a hold around him, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Liquors upstairs." He replies, as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around his neck as he makes his way up the last few steps. It wasn't a matter of her not trusting him not to drop her, but rather an acute awareness that neither were as young as they once were.

"And I suppose next thing you're going to tell me is that the bottle is upstairs in the bedroom?"

He dips he head down to her exposed neck, pressing a light kiss to it and the motion is enough to have her hum in delight. Damn that man.

"It's a possibility." He mutters against her, moving his lips from her neck up her throat, settling just at the corner of her mouth.

"Jethro," she groans, "Put me down."

She can sense his confusion by the way his movements stiffen as he places her on her feet.

It's quickly replaced by understanding followed by a new way of desire when she pulls him to her, hooking her legs around his waist and clinging on to him.

"Now take me upstairs." She whispers, before properly pressing her lips to his.

The job offer lay forgotten on the basement steps for the night.


	17. The Last Moment

Her mind was always on the fast track.

It had been that way since she was a little girl. If she didn't have the proper mental stimulation — or physical, as she learned when she entered adulthood — she would bore too easily.

Which is precisely why taking on the Directors job was something that she took to so naturally. It was busy work, it was fast paced, and it was stimulating in every sense of the word. The demands of the job were just enough to keep up with the speed that her mind always seemed to work at.

Unfortunately, even on what should have been a lazy Sunday morning, she still wasn't able to turn it off.

She had woken just after 6am — a feat for her, and one she would certainly not let pass without having him know she was capable of sleeping past 5 — and had been wide awake since.

He had been left sleeping in his bed, equally as spent as she was from the previous night though not operating on the same internal clock, and she didn't want to wake him.

Her jeans were left discarded just outside his bedroom door, her sweater not far from it on the staircase, and her shoes were yet to be in sight. She picked both up, folding them gently as she made her way down the steps, looking around for her lost footwear as she did.

She tasked herself with cleaning up from the night before: something that would keep her mind and hands busy until a certain marine made his appearance.

The clothes were a start, though she quickly found herself shuffling around the kitchen and organizing the mess they had left from dinner. There were still empty takeout containers on the table and an open bottle of bourbon on the counter.

It's only when she sees the bourbon that she remembers the book on the basement steps.

Of course, by the time she makes her way to the basement to retrieve it, the familiar pang of anxiety has already swept over her as she remembers the job offer all over again.

There's a voice playing in the back of her head that sounds an awful lot like her father:

_Tell him. _

"Damn it." She mutters to herself, staring at the boat as she does.

Her entire career had been spent at NCIS, and while there were parts of her that would always remain beyond loyal to her agency, she would be lying if she tried to say she didn't want the job.

She wanted the job, and the experience that came with it, and the satisfaction of knowing all her work was paying off, that she was hand picked for the position because she had proved herself worthy of it.

But she wanted him, too.

"Sweatshirt is a bit big on you, Jen."

His voice startled her. Had she really been that deep in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him? Or was he still just that good? A mix of both, if she really had to guess.

She looks up to where he's standing at the top of the basement steps, before glancing down at herself. She's wearing an old NIS sweatshirt of his and a pair of his sweatpants.

"It's comfortable." She retorts, making her way up the stairs.

"You have clothes here." He counters, stepping aside to let her brush past him.

She sets the book on the table beside her neatly folded clothes, "Yes, from six years ago that probably don't fit me. And it's winter, I'm cold, and these are warm."

"Coulda' stayed in bed," He says, making his way to the coffee pot, "Warm there too."

"There a reason you keep your house so chilly, Jethro?"

He reaches into a cabinet and produces two blue coffee cups, "Was trying to coax you into staying in bed. Next time I'll turn the heat off completely."

She laughs lightly, making her way beside him with a smile, "You could have just asked, Jethro."

He snorts, "You never listen to me."

"True." She agrees, reaching up on her tip toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

There's something in the way he looks at her, she decides, that generates such a warm feeling inside her that she's certain she'll never be cold again.

The mere thought of leaving him makes the sensation almost too much for her to bare.

How is she going to tell him?

"Coffee will be ready in," he pauses, looking to the machine, "about ten minutes."

"Hmm," she hums, brushing the back of her hand over his unshaven face. The stubble scratches her skin and it reminds her that all of this is so undeniably _real _that her heart beats a bit faster at the sensation, "Then I'll be back."

Shes only a few steps away from him before he asks, "Where are you going?"

"Hot shower," she says, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk, "Are you going to join me? Or are you going to stand there and stare at the coffee pot until it does your bidding?"

He's behind her in an instant, looping his arm around her waist and toying with the drawstring of her sweatpants; a wicked grin in his lips that could revile her own.

Later, when they had finally emerged back down to the kitchen, the coffee had sat cold and forgotten.

———

The level of domesticity they had slipped into was something she hadn't experienced with another person.

After their shower — and a fresh pot of coffee — he had retreated to the basement. The door had been left open for her, an invitation that she was welcome to join him during his Sunday routine if she desired. Another one of those simple gestures done by him to show his level of adoration.

She went down periodically, spending varying amounts of time watching him work before inevitably retreated back upstairs.

It was the comfort of being able to navigate their day separately with the knowledge of being able to be with the other at any given moment that was so enjoyable wonderful that she wonders if the novelty will ever truly wear off.

As the saying goes, however, all good things must come to an end.

It was just nearing 8pm when he drives her home, the day spent pleasantly doing nothing other than spending time in varying locations of the household, a new level of relaxation even for her.

Monday was closing in though, and they had to prepare to slip back into their respective roles, starting with her going back to her own house.

The air is crisp and cold around her, a bitter edge to it that cuts right through her coat despite its thickness. The ground was slick, a result of the few days of nice weather melting the snow all for it to freeze over, and he's insistent on walking her into the house under the guise that she could slip.

"You know Jethro," she tells him, rolling her eyes a bit as he tightens his hold around her waist, "If you wanted to walk in with me, you could have just done so. The ice is a nice cover story, though."

He scoffs, a puff of white breath escaping him as a result, "Just trying to be a gentleman."

She rolls her eyes, digging around in her pocket for her keys, "That'll be the day."

He offers her a throaty laugh, a sound she isn't graced with hearing often and it's enough to elicit a smile from her.

"I'll see you bright and early, Director." He teases, gripping her tightly at the waist as she faces him.

She leans forward, pressing herself into him as he kisses her. There's a warmth to him that overtakes her in the cold.

Her mind wanders to the heat of the Californian sun.

The authority the deputy position would hold.

The pride she knows her father would have in her for obtaining the title.

The satisfaction within herself for working so hard to get where she is.

In an instant, it all snaps back to the man in her arms.

"We need to talk about something."


	18. The Boiling Point

Even in the darkness of the night, she can make out the confused look washing over his features when the words escape her.

Still, he nods. Skeptically, she would add, and she couldn't blame him for it. One moment they were making out on her porch like teenagers, and the next she blindsided him with the statement.

He follows her inside, a wave of heat hitting her as they step into her foyer. It wards off the chill in her bones but doesn't quite make her feel as warm as he does.

"SecNav was in my office the other morning." She begins, unraveling the scarf she had tied around her neck. There's a shakiness to her voice that she prays he doesn't notice, but he's always been good at reading her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He brought the FBI's deputy director with him."

"If this is about me pissing off their agency-" He begins.

"No," she says, effectively cutting him off, "No, honey, can you just listen for a second? It's nothing like that. The Deputy is moving to the CIA. A need to know position and I didn't need to know."

The pet name had rolled off her tongue so easily that it takes her by surprise, and in any other situation perhaps she would turn into a blushing mess at the term, but she has no time to dwell on it given the circumstances.

His posture stiffens slightly, "What's it got to do with you?"

She sucks in a deep breath, holding the air in her lungs as she works up the nerve to say the words to him.

"They want me to take the job."

The pressure of the breath she was holding all but makes her lungs feel like they're about to pop, and she has to consciously remind herself to breathe.

"They want you to work for the FBI?" He inquires, tone a bit disbelieving.

"Yes," She says, voice tentative, "They came in and sang my praises, told me how much progress I've made with the agency, and they want me to move to the FBI to help reform their crime division."

A wave of silence overtakes the room, and she watches as he tries to process the information she was feeding him. There's a puzzled look in his eyes that she doesn't recognize and it scares her all the more. She has seen Jethro Gibbs in many states, but puzzled just by a set of words has never been one of them.

"You're taking it."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm considering it," She settles on, because it's the only truth she really knows at the moment, "There's a lot of semantics that I have to work out."

"Like?"

The distance between them is practically non existent, and for a moment she swears he's able to hear the sound of her heart pounding against her chest and the blood rushing through her veins.

"The job is in California."

For a moment, she feels as though the world had stopped turning; as if time itself had frozen in place as she waits for him to respond.

"You're leaving."

If words could kill, she'd surely be dead.

"I-" she pauses, "it's not the simple."

He scoffs, tone suddenly colder than it had been, "Isn't it? You want the job. The job is on the other side of the country. You're leaving."

Instinctively, she takes a step back. Not out of fear that he would ever do anything to physically harm her, but there's a malice laced through his voice that scared her.

She had prepared for him to be less than happy, but this?

She didn't expect this.

"I haven't said yes. I have until the end of the month to decide. I wouldn't take the job without talking to you first."

"Talking to me first? You're not asking my permission, you're telling me that you're gonna take it. I told you Jen, you couldn't want this then try to undo it later. I told you that."

"I do want this!" She insisted, "but the job offer is-"

"That's all you care about, isn't it?" He counters, voice finally cracking into a yell, "Your god damn job."

Her thoughts trickle back to the night before she left him. The trembling in her hands as she wrote his letter, the fear she felt as she shoved it in the pocket of her coat, the monumental heartache she felt as she walked off the plane.

The feeling had never quite replicated itself until this moment .

"No," she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady, "That's bullshit. That's bullshit and you know it."

A cold laugh escapes his lips, "Do I? All you ever do is leave, Jen. Because of your job, because you just can't help but want to be on top no matter who you hurt in the process."

"You don't get to throw that in my face," She yells back, "Yes, I left, and I've paid for that every day since. This is real Jethro, I don't want to give this up, but my job is important to me too. I want to make this work."

"What, long distance? Like we're a couple of kids? I won't do that again, Jen. I did long distance. I was in a whole different country the first time. I won't be separated from someone I love like that again. I _won't_."

She gets the meaning behind his words; the clear reference the the deaths of his wife and daughter, and she instinctively wants to gather him in her arms and assure him that she's not going anywhere, even if it's not the truth.

"It's not the simple." She repeats, voice coming out in a hushed whisper, "I worked so hard to get where I am. You can't expect me to throw all that progress away."

His hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles turning white as he speaks. He too can barely manage more than a whisper in the moment, "It always comes down to the job, doesn't it?"

There's a sudden stabbing pain coursing through her chest, and in that moment she finally understands. _This_ is what heartbreak feels like; waves crashing into her chest as she fights to stay afloat, and for a spit second she feels as though she'll collapse from the sheer force of it all.

"Is that what you think? That I love my job more than I love you?"

"You know what? Yeah, that's what I think. You'll always choose your job over anyone else who cares about you."

The sudden burst of rage that laces through her voice surprises her almost as much as it does him, "I am allowed to be proud of what I've accomplished! I'm not leaving you with another Dear Jethro letter, I don't want to give what we have up again, but I know that this is a once in a lifetime chance for me and I don't want to waste it. I thought you would understand. I thought you would be proud of me."

"I put my loved ones first," he counters, brushing past her and towards the door, "Before any job, before anything else, I put them first. You only get one shot at a family Jen. I learned my lesson, seems like you just haven't learned yours."

"Jethro-" She tries, but he cuts her off before she can get another word in.

"I can't handle you leaving again," he says, "_I can't_."

When the door slams, she swears it shook the whole house.

* * *

**A/n: I struggled with this chapter, because I don't want Gibbs to come off as the bad guy here. I don't want to make it out like he isn't supportive of her or that he doesn't love her enough to want to make it work, but I also feel as though his first emotional response would be something like this given the news. **

**Next chapter isn't as Jibbs centric, but its short and is vital to the story, so stay tuned. **


	19. The A Team

Something was off.

He knew it from the moment that Gibbs walked into the bullpen. There was an extra large coffee cup clutched in his hands and a scowl on his face; a not unfamiliar look for his boss however one that hadn't graced his features in weeks.

Since Gibbs had started seeing Jenny, the shift in his mood had been a palpable change. There was a lightness to him that he nor the rest of his teammates had seen him wear prior to his reconciliation with his past lover.

He watched as he all but threw his snow covered coat on the back of his chair, slamming his coffee cup down on his desk with more force than strictly necessary, and he could see a tension in Gibbs' shoulders that hadn't been there when they gone home on Friday.

"There a case?" Gibbs had asked, not bothering to look up at his team members.

He goes to answer, but Ziva beats him to the punch. For the best, he decides, there had been a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue and he knows it wouldn't have gone over well.

"No, nothing."

"Start digging through cold cases then," he says, "I'm going to see Ducky."

And like that, Gibbs vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

"What was that about?" McGee asks, drawing his attention away from the closed elevator doors.

The Mossad Agent simply shrugs. If she knew what was going on between his boss and the Director, she hadn't let on. It was no secret that she and Jenny had been close prior to her addition to the team, and he had a sneaking suspicion they still confided in one another. Still, both Jenny and Gibbs seemed hell bent on keeping their relationship status under wraps.

Then again, Ziva was nothing if not observant. She may have very well known before he did.

"I'll be back." He says, standing up from his desk.

"Where are you going?" Ziva inquires, watching him intently as he walked away.

"Directors office." He throws over his shoulder, flashing her a grin. The less questions she asked at the moment, the better.

He was going to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

"She in?"

Cynthia had been so transfixed on the pile of paperwork in front of her that she hadn't notice his presence at first. She looked startled when he spoke, and he felt bad for a moment having spooked her.

"She's out sick," the assistant replies, "There a problem?"

"Sick?" He repeats, "Jenny doesn't get sick."

If she's surprised that he refers to her by her first name, she doesn't let on.

"She called me this morning, asked me to have an agent drop some of her work. Is there something wrong?"

He stares at her blankly for a moment before glancing at her office door. If she called out sick, something big must have happened.

"Let me ask you something Cynthia," he says, "Have you noticed a change in the Directors mood the last few weeks?"

She gives him a knowing smile, "You mean since she and Agent Gibbs started seeing each other?"

He doesn't bother hiding his look of surprise, "Since she- wait, you... you know?"

She laughs lightly, "They're not as subtle as they like to think when they're in there. The walls aren't thick here, I can hear them talk sometimes. Of course I knew. Not that I ever would have said anything to them, of course." she pauses, giving him a skeptical look, "How did you know?"

"Rookie mistake," he says with a slight chuckle, "They showed back up from coffee and Gibbs was sporting a lovely shade of lipstick on his neck."

Cynthia snorts, shaking her head before a puzzled look crosses her face, "Did something happen, Tony?"

He sighs, "Well, she called out sick, which she never does, and he came storming in here this morning looking like he was ready to strangle someone."

"You think they're not together anymore?" She inquired.

He shrugs, "I don't know, but something happened."

Cynthia frowns, "She did sound a bit off on the phone this morning, but I didn't think much of it."

"Huh." He says, "Do you remember anything happening in the last few days?"

He watches as Cynthia bites her bottom lip, drumming her fingers rhythmically against her desk as she does. There's a far off look in her eye for a few moments as she recounts the last few days events, and he can pinpoint the exact moment a memory sweeps over her.

"SecNav," she says, looking back up at him, "He was in her office the other day when she got in, and he brought the FBI's deputy Director along. I don't know anything else about it though, they were talking to quietly and she didn't say anything about it when they left."

"Interesting." He says before turning on his heel, "Keep your eyes and ears peeled Cynthia, something is going on."

* * *

After his conversation with Cynthia, he decided to go to the only other person that for sure knew about the two of them: Abby.

"Tony!" She exclaimed with a smile. A pair of blue rubber gloves were being snapped onto the her hands, a set of lab goggles perched onto of her raven hair to match, "Happy Monday!"

He lets out a long sigh, "It's a Monday, I'll give you that."

A frown graces her features, "Whats wrong?"

"I think," he pauses, considering his next words, because truly he didn't what to think, "I think that Gibbs and the Director might have split up."

"What?" She pauses, shooting him a skeptical look, "Tony, are you messing with me?"

He shakes his head defensively, "No, Abs, would I joke about this? Jenny called out sick."

Her expression shifts from skeptical to confused in an instant, "She never calls out."

"That's what I'm saying."

"And Gibbs?" She asks, worry etched across her face. If there was one person that cared about the two of them almost as much as they cared for each other, it was Abby.

He shakes his head, "He looks pissed. Came in with an extra large cup of coffee and stormed down to autopsy pretty quickly. Barely said a word to any of us."

Abby leans back against the metal tabletop, chewing absentmindedly on her nails. He's seen that look on her before; it's the same expression she gets when she's engrossed in a puzzling case. It worries him.

"Well," she finally says, tilting her head just enough to look at him, "I guess we have to find out why in order to fix it."

He blinks, "Whoa, I didn't sign up to play matchmaker Abs."

This time she turns fully to face him, eyes narrowing as she does, "You want them back together as much as I do, and not just because you want him in a better mood. Face it Tony, you care."

He stares her down for a moment, shooting a glare that could rival even that of Gibbs because letting out a long sigh.

"Fine," he relents, "I want them to be happy. First course of action is to find out exactly what happened."

"You have Cynthia on the radar," she says, "that's a start."

He nods, "Boss is down talking to Ducky. He'll know better than anyone, think you can sweet talk him into giving you some info?"

Abby grins, "You know it."

He smiles. If Jenny and Gibbs weren't going to fight for each other, than he and Abby would surely do the fighting for them.


	20. The Doctors Orders

There were a few things that Donald 'Ducky' Mallard knew to be true.

He knew that Jimmy Palmer was a promising but at times frustrating medical student.

He knew that Abby Scuito was one of the brightest women he had ever met.

He knew that Tony DiNozzo was a much better agent than people gave him credit for.

And he knew that, despite what both parties would like to have him believe, that Jethro Gibbs and Jenny Shepard would never fully be done with one another so long as they both worked under the same roof.

When the delicate silence of the early morning is shattered by the sound of the doors behind him opening, he needn't turn to see his visitor. There was only one person he knew who possessed the innate ability to appear when he was in the thoughts of another.

"Ah, Jethro," he says, setting down the stack of papers he had been shuffling through to properly greet his guest, "Bit early for you to be visiting."

"Personal visit, Duck."

He pushes his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose, blinking as the man in front of him comes fully into focus, "Hmm, yes, I gathered as much. What can I do for you?"

Gibbs drums his fingers against the steel table at his side, jaw clenching as he does so. There's a far off look wandering around in his eyes; a vulnerability that Ducky doesn't recognize and it worries him.

"Jen's leaving."

He blinks, a bit dumbfounded by the statement.

"I beg your pardon?" Ducky says, because he needs be assured he had heard correctly.

"Jen," he repeats, "She's leaving."

His voice is cold and crisp: the sound of a man writhing in acceptance of circumstance.

"I'm going to need you to elaborate Jethro."

Gibbs takes a few hesitant steps around the room, blue eyes scouring over the metallic drawers and table tops, "FBI offered her a job. Deputy Director out in California. She's takin' it."

"Hmm," Ducky says, "And I take it by the scowl on your face we're not happy for Jennifer?"

In an instant, the glare Gibbs had been wearing was redirected to him.

"She burned a lot of bridges and climbed a lot of ladders to be director of this agency, and you're telling me she's just gonna throw that out the window for some hot shot office on the other side of the country?"

It was only then - when the slightest quiver in his voice broke through - that Ducky understood what was happening.

"Jethro," he says lightly, "Are you and Jennifer together?"

"No." The answer came to quickly; a fatal flaw that revealed more than it hid, and Gibbs knew it. He had been caught, and it was all Ducky could do to suppress the urge to gloat. It was an inevitable course of action that he knew his old friends would take.

But now was not the time to toot his own horn.

"Oh Jethro," he muses, "Are you really going to let that woman go just like that?"

"I'm not-" he abruptly pauses, quietly inhaling in what Ducky knew was an attempted to curve his bubbling frustration, "She's the one who wants to leave Duck, I'm not the one throwing all of whatever we're doing away. Not my choice whether she stays or goes. You know Jen as well as I do; she's stubborn."

Ducky can't hold back the snort that follows his statement, "As opposed to you?"

The glare returns, "Not talking about me."

"You're implying that Jennifer ended your relationship, then?"

There's a hesitation to Gibbs movements, "She tried to peddle out something about long distance. I know her, that job is going to be the priority in her life."

He raises his eyebrows, "You're not happy for her?"

He knows he's walking a dangerous line: toying with Gibbs words in attempts to unearth his deeper feelings, but it's a necessary evil he feels he needs to breech.

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

Gibbs sighs, resuming his pacing around the room, "She's a hell of an agent. Hell of a director, too. I'm not saying she doesn't deserve what she's getting, but I can't do that again. Being away from-" he swallows thickly, "-Shannon and Kelly was hell. I don't want to be separated like that again. She doesn't get that."

He knows there's more to Gibbs' series of thoughts, but Shannon and Kelly was one line he knows not to cross.

"When does she leave?" He settles on, because it's as safe of a question as he can think of.

"End of the month."

"I see. So _you're_ the one who put an end to your relationship then?"

Ducky had been on the receiving end of the infamous Gibbs glare enough times to cultivate an immunity to it; he may scare the likes of Tony and McGee, but he was far from afraid.

"Ain't that simple."

"Is it not? Jethro, I've known her just as long as you have. If there is one thing that I am certain of, it's that that woman loves you, and that she carries that weight of leaving you all those years ago with her every day. Now, until you are ready to have a conversation with her like a mature adult in a serious relationship, I would advise you not to come back down here to air out your grievances."

When he hears the doors slide back open without so much as another word, he knows his point had been made.

Those two would surely be the death of him.

* * *

**A/n: I don't like this chapter really at all, but I wanted to get something out while I am working on my next Jenny-centric piece. That, and I think Gibbs being able to vent his frustrations to someone other than Jenny is good to see. And update will come soon. **

**\- Ali **


	21. The Teams Choice

She hadn't moved from bed much at all that day.

The ridiculousness of the situation dawns at her midway through the day: that she's a grown woman in her 50s confining herself to her own bed out of heartache.

She tries to think back to her teenage years and whether she had even been this love sick before. She can almost put together a face, but her memory falters every time a name tries to present itself.

It seems that Jethro Gibbs is the only person who has ever done this to her.

If Cynthia had any suspicions about her story of waking up sick, she hadn't vocalized them. Neither had the agent who so graciously dropped off her work. The younger woman knew her well enough to know she's never once called out sick, and she makes a mental note to herself to provide her assistant with a raise for never questioning whatever she was told to do.

Her phone lay on the pillow next to her. Screen face up, volume as high as it would go, a thinly veiled attempt at making herself believe it was all in case the agency were to call with an emergency.

In reality, she had just been hoping he'd call.

She didn't know what she would say, of course. Everything was to muddled in her head right now; pools composed of his words being thrown so violently mixed with the level tones or SecNavs offer. Voices and phrases replaying in her mind over and over like a sickening song. Nothing made much sense to anymore, least of all in that moment.

Pros and cons: a tactic she had used throughout her career to make choices. Weighing the two seemed at times to be the only way she could navigate through tough decisions to be made.

The biggest con of all of this was leaving him, and it felt so much heavier than anything else being weighed.

She lets the pen she had been holding fall carelessly into a sea of blankets, shoving aside a document as she does.

Perhaps going to California soon was the best choice, if only to avoid seeing the heartbreak in his eyes for any longer.

Her gaze drops to her phone once more, the itching in her fingers to call him returning. She wanted to talk to him. A real talk, not another screaming match that the two of them always seemed to fall into.

"Damn it Jethro." She mutters to herself, burying her face into her pillow to muffle the groan that followed her statement. If she inhales deep enough, she's sure she could still pick up his scent in her bedspread.

How could things have gone so good to so horrible in a matter of 24 hours?

One moment he was carrying her up the steps to bed, the next she was laying alone in hers struggling to keep her mind off of him.

Perhaps leaving him with a Dear Jethro letter was a cowards move, but it all felt monumentally easier in this moment than dealing with everything life was throwing at them this time.

What was she going to do?

* * *

Hours later, long after a case had been handed off to team Gibbs and a body had been sent to autopsy, Ducky had been just about ready to call it a day when the doors had opened once again

"If you've come back for another talk Jethro, I'm afraid I'm out of the office until tomorrow morning." He commented, not bothering to spare his guest a glance.

"If you were expecting Gibbs, I'm sorry to disappoint."

The lightness of the voice catches him off guard, and it's only when he spins on his heel to face his visitor that he realizes Abby, accompanied by Tony, had been the one to speak.

"Abby," he says, offering the duo a smile, "You'll have to forgive me, typically Jethro is the only one who comes to see me this late in the day."

She smiles, "Well, you're not to far off Ducky. We're here because of him."

If ever there was a statement pique his interest, it was that.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Tony answers, "Listen, Ducky, we know he came down here and talked to you this morning. We know you know about he and the director."

It takes a great deal of self control for Ducky to hold back his laughter, "Hmm, yes, and I take it he doesn't have the faintest idea that you two know?"

The guilt look on both of their faces tells him all he needs to know.

"Didn't think so. Now, what is it I can do for you?"

Abby, ever the enthusiast, answers before Tony even has a chance to open his mouth, "We know they were together. First question is, are they no longer?"

He thinks back to his conversation with the man in question hours before, "I don't believe so."

"Huh," Abby says, "Well, why?"

It dawns on him then how much they knew and subsequently how little they knew.

"I don't know if I'm at liberty to talk about the Directors professional affairs." He offers, because he truly doesn't know how widespread the job offer has been.

"Ducky," Tony says, "We're not asking as their employees, we're asking as their friends. And as someone who has benefited greatly from a decrease in slaps to the back of the head."

On queue, Abby's hand collides with the back of his skull.

"Sorry."

Ducky knows he really should not disclose the reasoning behind Jennys departure, and that really, it wasn't their business what the Director did or did not do.

He also knows that the pair standing in front of him cares deeply enough about Jenny and Gibbs that perhaps it doesn't matter.

"Jennifer was offered a job at the FBI as deputy director in California."

There's a brief moment of silence before before Abby speaks.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed." He laments.

"So she's leaving him." Abby says.

"It's not that simple," Ducky says, sighing, "She's not the one who ended things. Jethro has a habit of doing things too quickly when he's in a relationship with someone. I believe Jenny wanted to make things work long distance."

Tony absentmindedly runs a hand along the back of her head where Abby has slapped him as he speaks, "So, what I'm getting is this just sucks all around."

Despite himself, Ducky smiles slightly, "I have to agree Tony. This does in fact suck, as you put it."

"So what are we going to do?"

Abbys words shouldn't take him by surprise, but they do. Of course the two of them wanted to meddle in a relationship that was not their own.

"I would stay out of it, Abigail."

Abby rolls her eyes with a smirk, "Wheres your sense of romance Ducky? If those two are too stubborn to fight for their relationship and own personal happiness, then someone else has to do the fighting for them. I want them both to be happy, and it turns out that just might be with each other."

He stares at her for a moment. Hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, eyes filled with dedication to her cause. If there was one person who was infinitely passionate about what she puts her mind to, it was Abby Scuito.

"Okay." He finally replies, "Okay, we help them see the error of their ways. But this is a fine line you all are walking, you have to tread lightly."

A wicked smile overtakes Abbys features.

"I am nothing if not good at what I do."

* * *

**a/n: Next chapter is going to be solely Gibbs and Jenny, so stay tund. **

**\- Ali **


	22. The Elevator Incident

There's a look in Cynthia's eye that Jenny doesn't recognize when she comes in the following day. It's something between sympathy and apprehensive, though she can't pinpoint for sure which. Her assistant is nothing if not observant, but she prays that she doesn't know the extent of her and Gibbs tumultuous relationship. Pity is one thing that does not want, though she doubts Cynthia would offer her any. The younger woman knew her better than that.

He and his team had either not arrived or had already left on a case. Regardless, she was spared having to endure what would have been a less than pleasant encounter.

The smell of coffee this morning made her stomach somersault in a way she didn 't recognize. It made her think of him and the always looming scent nd she couldn't bare to be reminded of him and more than she already was.

She opted for tea instead.

Most of her day had been spent waiting, a modicum of trepidation to every move she made. She had expected him to come busting into her office at any moment, disguising his visit as case related in attempts to pick another fight. He'll let her go with a bang, she supposes.

What she hadn't been expecting was the light knock at her door.

"Come in."

To her surprise, it was McGee on the other side of the door.

"Good afternn, Director." He greets with a nod, ever the polite one of the bunch.

"Agent McGee," she offers him a curt smile, "What can I do for you?"

He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably where he stood, "Gibbs sent me up here, he wants to see if you can get into contact with the head of the overseas division. Our victim was part of their counter terrorism operations and Gibbs has a suspicion that whoever killed him was on the opposing side of those investigations."

"And so the information is classified." She concludes for him. It was true, there were cases and investigations that were kept lock and key, even from the agencies own people.

"That's correct."

"I can't subpoena a classified investigation without probable cause," She tells him, "Do you have sufficient evidence the points to that?"

He nods, "We have ballistics to back it up. Some circumstantial documents detailing the work he was doing in his sector, which is why we want to see how deep his investigation goes and into whom."

The ideology behind the proposed scenario is solid as she supposes they can get without knowing the full extent of his findings overseas, and the implication of the claim from McGee is clear.

"You think it's an inside job?"

She watches as his eyes drop to his shoes for a fraction of a second, "Gibbs seems to think so."

She snorts, "Seems a bit unlike him to send one of you to pitch his idea."

The statement throws McGee off, and she can see it written all over his face. For a federal agent, she thinks, he could use some work on his poker face.

She cuts him off before he can fumble out a half baked statement.

"Tell Agent Gibbs I will place a few phone calls and see what I can do, but I can't make any promises. Forward the information to Cynthia and I'll see that it's done."

He gives her a polite smile, "I'll make sure she gets it."

He turns to leave, but a thought enters her mind and she can't stop it from slipping out before she can think better of it.

"Which division was he station at, McGee?"

"Paris, ma'am."

She almost laughs at the absurdity that has seemed to over take her life within the last 48 hours.

* * *

The remainder of her day had been torn between MTAC meetings and negotiations with their counter terrorism unit overseas for release of information for Gibbs' case. Despite being Director, there were still miles she had to run at times to get anything accomplished.

She wonders for a moment if she would have to face the same obstacles at the FBI.

The thought is pushed out of her mind when she catches sight of the time; the hands of the ornate clock on the wall pointing just past 7 o'clock. Time seemed to slip away from her when she buried herself in case work. It ha been that way since she was an agent.

Then again, there were other things that helped her pass the time during her probie days on his team.

She tried her best not to let those thoughts overtake her mind either. Jenny Shepard was built to lead an agency, and she would not let something as simplistic as the sheer memory of a relationship bring her to her knees.

She was made much stronger than that, despite what her head was telling her these days.

The snow had just began to fall, barely covering the roads when she had looked out the window, and she made sure to wrap her coat as tightly around her as it would go. DC winters were nothing if not cruel and unforgiving.

The bullpen was nearly empty when she stepped out of her office, with only a few remaining agents scattered throughout, though they too were packing their belongings for the night. It was standard these days that she was one of the last to straggle out of the building, if not the final one to leave.

The elevator doors are just beginning to slide close when she reaches it, and she quickly slides a hand between the closing doors before it had completely sealed itself shut.

As luck would have it, he was of course the occupant.

There's a cold chill that shoots through her bloodstream; a iciness tingling her nerve endings and for a moment she thinks that surely everything within her had suddenly became colder than the temperature outside.

Upon seeing her in the doorway, he shifts his gaze to the floor, looking anywhere but her. She supposes she should wait and take the next elevator, but she didn't want what might be her last days in the agency spent with more animosity between them then there already was.

Still, she doesn't speak a word to him in what is surely to be the longest elevator ride of her life.

Head held high, she watched as the doors closed agonizingly slow, and she could practically feel the anger radiating off of him once again.

There's a soft ping with each floor they pass, and she thanks whatever god is up there that something was breaking up the awkward silence between them. Still, there's a voice nagging in the back of her head to say something, _anything_, that might make the tension between them fizzle out.

She finally takes a leap of faith just as they pass another floor to shoot a glance his way.

"Jethro I-"

She's abruptly cut off when she's pushed roughly against the wall of the elevator, his hands gripped tightly on her hips bones and mouth pressing against her.

Its hostile and desperate and it perhaps communicated more than a conversation would have at the time.

When they reach the final floor, he pulls himself away from her. There's a darkness to the blue of his eyes and she truly doesn't know what to make of it.

A hands slams against the wall beside her, fingers curled into a tight fist as he lets out a harsh breath.

She doesn't flinch. If there's one thing she knows for sure, it's that he would never hurt her no matter how angry he was.

"Damn it, Jenny."

He storms out when the doors slide back open, leaving her standing dumbfounded by the series of events that just unfolded around her.

Damn it was right.

* * *

A/n: Apologies for the slow updates, life has been hectic the last few weeks. However, I should be back to posting on a more regular basis from here on out.


	23. The Morning Tea

Timothy McGee had conducted many interrogations throughout his time as an agent, but never has he been on the other one on the other side of the table, though he supposed there's a first time for everything.

Tony hadn't scared him much. After all, he's seen him interrogate suspects to know all his tactics and, really, he had much more bark than bite.

Abby however shook him to his very core. There was something so unsettling about the bright eyed bubbly woman shifting from good cop to bad cop in a nanosecond that made him nervous. Abby was a wild card through and through.

"So," she slams a hand down onto the table and leans in closer to him, "Tell us everything you know."

He blinks, dumbfounded.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to know about." He answers, because he honestly has no inclination as to why he was dragged into interrogation.

"You're a slick one, you know that McGee? Well I'm not buying it."

"Abby," Tony says, placing a hand on her shoulder, "What the hell are you doing?"

She takes a step back and frowns, "I've never interrogated anyone before Tony, let me have my moment."

"You're taking the moment a little overboard. Listen, McGee," he says, looking towards the younger man, "When Gibbs sent you up to talk to the Director about the case, how was her mood?"

McGee pauses for a moment, "Her mood?"

"Stop playing games McGee, how was her mood?" Abby says, slipping right back into her previous persona.

"Uh," he says, "I mean, she seemed fine. A little glum maybe. She did make a comment about Gibbs not coming up and talking to her himself, but that was it."

"What was the alleged comment, McGee?" Abby says, placing the palms of her hands against the table top and leaning forward, eyes narrowing as she does. It occurs to him that she perhaps watches to many old time detective movies for her own good, but he knows better than to bring it up.

"She said it was unlike him to send one of us to speak with her instead of doing it himself."'

Abby nods and takes a step back, fiddling with one of her braids as she turns to look at Tony, "This is worse than I thought. He won't even go up to yell at her, and that never happens." She says, demeanor drastically shifting from what it was to concern.

"We need a better plan."

"You say that like we had a plan to begin with." Abby backfires.

"Hey," McGee says, cutting in, "Someone care to explain to me what you guys are talking about?"

"No." Both Abby and Tony reply, the each shooting a Gibbs grade glare at him.

He decided then and there that it was probably for the best that he not know.

———————

The morning following the unexpected kiss in elevator was an icy one. She had requested a driver that day, unwilling to get behind the wheel with the roads as slick as they were. It occurs to her that, if she does decide to take the job and move, she wont have to deal with the winter weather of the east coast again.

Then again, she was so accustomed to the cold that it really didn't bother her much.

"Your secretary called," her driver had said, just as they had rounded the corner to the parking lot, "She wanted me to inform you that Dr. Mallard would like to see you when you got in this morning."

"Hmm," she mutters, "Did she say what for?"

The driver catches her eye in the rearview, "No ma'am, she didn't say."

She cant help the suspicion the bubbles in the pit of her stomach; Ducky had seldom requested to speak with her in such a cryptic manner unless it was something overwhelmingly important, and even that hadn't happened since before she had left Gibbs' team.

Which is why she took her time to get there, taking slow deliberate steps through the building after thanking her driver. It was still early, the skeleton crew from the night before just beginning to trickle out of the building. She had always been one of the first ones to arrive, though Ducky was perhaps the only person who got up earlier than she did.

She had expected the sterile smell of bleach and Lysol to overtake her when she first entered the room; after all, the cleaning crew was nothing if not thorough when it came to autopsy. Unlike Ducky, not everyone was accustomed to the scent of bodies and embalmer.

Instead, the sweet aroma of tea overcame her senses.

"Ah, Jennifer." Ducky says, flashing her a soft smile, "I was hoping you would stop in before you started your day. Tea?"

There's two pristine white teacups sitting on the table, items the older man had been keeping in his work area for as long as she could remember.

She thinks back to the first time she had tea with him: mere hours after she had vomited watching her first autopsy. Gibbs had dangled it over her head for days after, laughing at her probie innocence with every chance he had.

She pushes him out of her mind as quickly as he entered.

"Of course." She says, because she truly can't say no to him.

"I hope English Breakfast is okay with you." He says, slowly filling her cup before sliding it across the table towards her with a smile.

"As much as I love coming to see you," she says, blowing on her drink in attempts to cool it, "Is there a particular reason you invited me to tea at 5:30 in the morning?"

"Can't I just catch up with an old friend?"

She shoots him a pointed look.

"Okay," he concedes, "Jethro came to visit the other morning-"

"Ducky, if this is going to be relationship counseling, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

"I'm not going to counsel two people who are old enough to know how to conduct oneself when courting another person," he says, rolling his eyes, "I wanted to ask you about your job offer."

She frowns, "He told you?"

After the words escape her, she realizes just how silly they sound. Of course he told Ducky, there probably wasn't a soul on earth he trusted more to tell his woes too. She understood it all quite well.

"Right," she says, shaking her head, "Of course he told you. I suppose then he told you we were together?"

Ducky nods, taking a small sip of his tea in lieu of an answer.

"SecNav visited me the other morning, he and the FBI deputy director, who is going to be transitioning to the CIA. They offered me the position, which just happens to be located on the other side of the country."

"I see. So you accepted, then?"

"I-," she pauses, "No. I haven't give them an answer yet."

"But you are taking it, correct?"

She frowns, "I don't know, it certainly sounds appealing. I've worked hard, Ducky. I'm proud of what I've accomplished, and to be offered another directorial position? That's something I never dreamed could happen."

There's a sudden dryness in the back of her throat that even her cup of tea wouldn't soothe, and she wonders where the sudden onset anxiety came from.

"It is certainly a prestigious title. So then, what's stopping you?"

She freezes for a moment, fingers wrapped rigidly around the handle of the teacup, "I don't know. This agency has been my life. I put everything into it, sacrificed a lot of things to obtain the position I'm in. That isn't something I can just leave behind so easily."

He raises a brow, "Is that the only thing stopping you?"

The implication is clear, though part of her wants to steer around the subject of him, but she knows well enough that Ducky won't let the topic go until she addresses it.

"I didn't want to end whatever it was we had going, Ducky. Long distance isn't ideal, but I was willing to try and make something work. I wanted to talk to him about it, but he didn't give me an opportunity to explain. He jumped to conclusions and assumed I was leaving again, and that simply wasn't the case."

"Hmm," he mutters, "Jethro certainly is an enigma, though perhaps I could shed some light onto what he was thinking?"

"Be my guest."

"Though he would never admit to this," Ducky says, "distance is perhaps the one thing that scares him. You have to remember, he was thousands of miles away when Shannon and Kelly died. I think perhaps the idea of having another person he cares so deeply for being so far away threatens to uproot that fear once again."

Her mind flashes back to their fight. He had said it to her, that he learned his lesson the first time.

"I know," she says softly, pushing the teacup away from her. Suddenly it had lost all its appeal.

"Jethro has never been very good at communication," he says with a sigh, "And I feel sorry for him in that sense. If you truly feel that taking this job is what's best for you, then you have my support, and I trust it won't be long before that man comes to his senses and speaks to you properly."

She offers him a sad smile, because it's all that she can really muster in the moment, "That'll be the day."

With that, she stands to leave. It was well after 6am and her duties could only be put off for so long.

"Thank you, Ducky. We'll have to do this more often." She says, and it's one of the only things she's felt certain in saying all morning.

He smiles, "Anytime."

Before she can make it fully out the door, his voice stops her, "You do know he loves you."

She glances over her shoulder, not willing to fully make eye contact with him. Whether it's out of fear of what she'll see in his eyes, or what he'll see in hers, she doesn't know.

"I know. I love him too."


	24. The Intervention

She had been a nail biter all throughout her childhood, a habit that she hadn't really learned to kick until she was just starting her career at NCIS. She knew the facts behind it: that bacteria festers underneath your fingernails and it truly is a less than sanitary tick to have, but she couldn't help herself most days. It was always a way to relieve her stress.

It had been upwards of 15 years since she managed to ween herself away from her nervous tick, but the moment Gibbs had stormed out of her home the urge had returned to her; a flood of muscle memory from years before.

She hasn't been able to stop biting since.

The green nail polish - her favorite color - that had coated her once wall crafter manicure was all but chipped off completely. Cynthia had told her once the color brought out her eyes and she had been wearing it ever since, though she could do without anyone trying to look too deep into her eyes, lest they see the lack of sleep perpetrating them.

She picking at the remaining polish again when a soft knock fills the room, one to quiet to be Cynthia.

"Come in." She says, loud enough that her voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

It only opens partially, just wide enough that Abby can slip her thin frame inside. Of all people she had expected to see, the young scientist was not one of them.

"Hi Director." She greets, voice peppy as ever though tainted with just a bit of seriousness.

"Good afternoon Abby," she greets with a smile. It wasn't often she was visited by someone so cheerful, "What can I do for you?"

Her gaze drops to the floor, "I wanted to talk to you about uh, something kind of personal, if that's okay?"

"That depends, how personal are we getting here?"

She can see the physical shift in Abby, how suddenly her shoulders tensed up and her movements became ridged. It was a state that she had never seen her in, and she would be lying if she said it didn't worry her.

"Are you leaving?"

She hadn't been expecting that.

"I beg your pardon?"

"NCIS," Abby clarifies, "Because if you're not, you and Gibbs need to have a conversation. I'm tired of him stomping around because his maybe or maybe not girlfriend is moving to the other side of the country."

"I-," she stutters, "How did you know about that?"

Abby waves her hand dismissively, effectively dodging the question, "Listen, as your employ I'm here to complain about how his behavior is affecting my work environment, because all he does is stomp around and yell, and he _never _yells at me. And as your friend, the both of you are miserable."

It takes her a full minute - maybe longer, if she's being honest - to process exactly what Abby had said to her.

"I'm not his girlfriend," she starts with, because it's the only thing that is concrete at the moment, "And we're a bit to old to tack on such juvenile terms, Abby. And as far as the job offer goes," she pauses, "I don't know about that. There are a lot of things for me to consider."

"Is there?" Abby retorts.

She opens her mouth to respond, but Abby cuts her off.

"You either want to be here, or you want to be there." She tells her, "I might not know everything that's happened between the two of you, but he loves you, and you love him. This job or that job or any job will always be here, but there's only one Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

There's a part of her, one she buried rather deep within herself, that feels like familiar prickling of tears threating to fill her eyes, but she swallows it before it makes itself known.

"I don't think it's your place to interject your opinion, Ms. Scuito."

It was harsh and she knew it, but she doesn't want to talk about her relationship problems with anyone else.

She gives Abby credit though, she remained unfazed despite the harshness of her tone.

"Do you remember our Locus Amoenus conversation? When I asked you what yours was? Well, if it's out there in California, then go. But if it's not, if your happy place is here in this agency, with your friends and the love of your life, then stay. It's not complicated, it's pretty simple."

She looks down t her desk, avoiding looking into Abby's eyes, "Nothing is ever that simple Abby."

Abby rolls her eyes, "Your Locus Amoenus, what is It?"

"I don't know." She answer truthfully, because she doesn't know much these days.

"Well," Abby says, clearly finished with the conversation, "I suggest figuring out."

With that, Abby walks out of the door, closing the door behind her just a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary, but she understands why. Abby was nothing if not loyal to Gibbs, perhaps even to fault. She would defend him tooth and nail at any cost.

She raises a hand to her lips, nervously biting her nails again.

* * *

There's a chill in his house that he just couldn't get to go away.

He wants to believe it's from the frigid temperature outside, that perhaps the insulation in his home wasn't what it used to be and that was why so much cold air had made its way inside, but he knows better. It seemed his world was just a little colder since they stopped seeing each other.

He could feel it though, the shift in temperature the moment he heard his front door slam shut. It was her of course, there was no one else it would be at that hour.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Jen." He says as she makes her way down the basement steps, not peeling his eyes away from his work. Looking at her would make all of this more real and he had had enough of real for a while.

"Neither am I, but I already got one from Abby."

He snorts, "Come here to tell me that's my fault? 'Cause I didn't send her."

He chances a glance at her, surprised to see just how much sadness is lingering in her eyes.

"I want us to talk." She says, glossing over his statement entirely, "Not yell, not go to Ducky, or Abby, or anyone else. We need to talk face to face."

He relents despite not wanting to see her at the moment, lest he loose his temper again, but he knows he can't go on forever like that.

"Fine."

* * *

**A/n: I split this into two chapters because it had clocked in at just over 3000 words, so I decided to stop it here, but the next chapter is ready to be posted, and i'll only have a few after this. I want to wrap this story up soon so the end is coming alone guys! R&R**

**\- Ali **


	25. The Skeleton Boat

He lays his sander down on his work bench, brushing off the layer of sawdust that coated his skin as he did. There's a bottle of bourbon - a cheap one, to be fair - stashed on a shelf with his tools, and he pulls that down for the two of them. Cliché as it may be, he could use a bit of liquid courage.

When he turns around, bottle in hand, he finds her holding two empty mason jars. Muscle memory, he supposes. This wasn't even close to the first time they found themselves in this position; drinking in around the skeleton of a half built boat.

He pours her a drink, filling the jar up just a bit more than strictly necessary, but he knows she won't comment on it. She snatches it off the table top and raises it to her lips, taking a generous sip before leaning against the frame of his boat. It turned out she needed the liquid courage as much as he did.

He follows suit, taking in a mouthful of his own drink.

"You wanted to talk, so talk."

She stares straight ahead, a blank expression he doesn't quite recognize etched across her features. For as long as he had known her, even dating back to her probie days, she never shied away from eye contact. It's one of the things that made her such a good politician; she could stare down anyone into submission.

"I do love you," she says bluntly. He had expected her to dance into the topic, but he also knows that they were nearing the end days and had no more time left for running circles around topics.

"But?" He prompts.

She shrugs her shoulders, "But nothing. It's just a fact. And I love my job, that's a fact too. I love everything I've accomplished, and I'm proud of myself, and an offer like that is a once in a lifetime thing. And this...whatever this is between us, this I think is once in a lifetime too."

He takes another sip, "You don't get it Jen, it always comes down to the job for you. You left then, you're leaving now. Is that what you're here to tell me? That you took and it and you're leaving?"

There's a momentary period of silence that sweeps through the room. He knows it should feel heavy, that there should be some sort of suffocating weight looming over them, but it never appears. Its only then that he understands what all of this is turning into: an admission of defeat in the fight to be together.

He was bearing witness to her leaving again.

"I haven't told them anything," she says, eyes closed as she does. "I have another three days to give them my decision."

"But you're taking it." It was as much of a statement as it was a question.

"I think so."

They both take another long and drawn out sip of their drinks. The cheapness of the liquor burns the back of his throat and he wonders if it's doing the same to hers. Her taste in booze had certainly gotten more expensive since she became director.

"I didn't think about how long distance would affect you," she admits, tilting her head just enough to look at him, "The things that happened in your past, your family, I didn't consider that and I'm sorry. Trying to get you to make that work wouldn't be fair to you."

She sniffles, and he realizes her eyes are just a bit too glassy for it to be all from the alcohol.

"I can't leave and have you hate me, Jethro. I won't do it, and I needed to come here and have us clear some of the air between us. I don't want it to be like last time. I love you, but I love my work to, and I can't sacrifice that part of myself. It's not fair to you or me, and I can't expect you to try and make something work long distance when you don't want to."

It takes him a bit longer than he would have liked to formulate any type of thought, but she's always had a knack for rendering him speechless.

The only thing he could come up with was, "I don't hate you."

He watches as she downs the last half of her drink in a single go, discarding the glass on top of the boat frame. It sits dangerously close to the edge of the wood, but he couldn't care less in that moment, enough things were shattering around him to be concerned about something so small.

"You probably should."

"Wish I could," he answers truthfully, finally taking a few steps towards her, "Somedays I could strangle you, you're so damn infuriating, but you've been like that since the first day you were assigned to my team."

She snorts, nodding her head towards the skeleton of his boat, "So now what, you name this boat after me and set it aflame?"

"That what you want?" He probes.

"I want it both ways," she tells him.

"Doesn't work like that."

"Maybe we were kidding ourselves to think this could work. We've always been star crossed."

He gives her a puzzled look, "Star Crossed, Jen?"

She rolls her eyes at him, "Honestly Jethro, you need some cultural exposure. Star crossed lovers? You're not that old, I know you remember reading Romeo and Juliet in school. Somethings just aren't meant to be. You were my boss, now I'm yours."

He decides to minimize as much space between them as he can by coming to stand in front of her, positioning himself just right so she has no other choice than to look him in the eye. It's a clear breech of personal space, but they're never had much regard for that anyway.

"So that's is, huh?"

She shrugs, "You don't want to do long distance, and I want that job. We're at a stalemate."

There's an alcohol induced haze in her eyes; a shade of green he hasn't seen since their days in Europe. It had made itself known in the weeks leading up to her letter. He hadn't recognized what it was then, but he does now. The bleary eyed look of defeat.

"You told me you couldn't handle having this and then not having this," he reminds her, brushing the back of his fingers down her arm, "What happened to that, huh?"

Despite his best efforts, she still averts his gaze, "I had a revelation earlier, when Abby came into my office. You are the amazing person I know, and I think that perhaps you deserve better than someone who values their job more than almost anything."

The hand that had been brushing her arm lifted to tuck itself under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head just enough so she had no choice but to look him in the eyes, "Didn't realize that was your call to make."

"We're nothing if not brutally honest with one another, Jethro. I'm just telling it like it is."

This time it's him who drops his gaze to the floor, the weight of it all that had been absent before suddenly filling the room and pressing hard on his chest.

"So we're right back here again, huh? You leaving."

She gives him a sad smile, "Meant to be maybe."

He wants to argue with her, but he knows it would be a futile effort. She had set her mind on leaving, and noting he said was going to stop her.

"I love you," she whispers, though he thinks it may be more to herself than to him, "I'm sorry we're here again."

He goes to reach for her, a tangible attempt at making her stay, but she grasps his wrists between her own hands before he can make to far of a move, "Don't."

There's a protest bubbling at the back of his throat, a desperate plea threatening to crawl its way out, but she renders him motionless by pressing her lips softly against his. In an instant, all vocalizations drowned back into his lungs.

She's almost to the top of the steps when he manages to speak again.

"Jen?"

The hair she has pulled over her shoulder slithers off it and down her back when she turns to face him; a vision of red in the glow of the basement lights and it breaks his heart all the more.

"Don't think I really know what my Locus Amoenus would be, but you're there for sure."

When the front door closes, the house feels cold again.

* * *

**A/n: I do have a sick appreciation for posting such an angst-ridden chapter on Valentines day, the irony to me is just too much to pass up. Which, by the way, this is my first time trying to write something angsty. I don't like the way it turned out per say, but it was my first attempt. Who knows, I may revisit this in a few days and edit some things, but I don't think I'm able to do anything else with this right now. I need some time away from the chapter in order to reflect, so that's that. **

**Anyway, I doubt that there will be more than a few chapters left to this. The story started off in one way and went an entirely different direction, so who knows what the ending will truly hold (not me, that's who). I hope you all have a lovely holiday, and I will see you in a few days. **

**\- Ali**


	26. The Hail Mary

"This is bad."

Abby had been drumming her fingers against the metal autopsy table, dark painted fingernails clicking loudly with every tap. It was to much noise for Tony first thing in the morning, though he hadn't quite had the energy to tell her to stop.

"I'm inclined to agree," Ducky says, sitting his freshly filled teacup on the table, "Though if that's what Jennifer thinks is best, I'm not going to stand in her way."

"Ducky!" Abby says, clearly exasperated with his sentiment, "Gibbs is what's best for her."

The older man raises an eyebrow at her, "Forgive me, I didn't realize you were in the business of deciding what's best for people."

Tony snickers at Ducky's sarcasm, earning a less than friendly glare from Abby.

"Do you people have no sense of romanticism?" She exclaims, shaking her head.

"Perhaps not, but I have sense of realism. Romance is not all that goes into this predicament with Jennifer leaving." Ducky counters.

"I thought that you would want two of your _oldest friends_ to be happy with one another, since they clearly were prior to this FBI mess. And you," she says, pointing a finger at Tony, "Not everyone gets to live happily ever after with a hot Mossad ninja. Don't you people want Jenny and Gibbs to have their happily ever after?"

To her credit, Tony thinks, she certainly made her point. Both he and Ducky are wearing matching looks of sheepishness. For someone so bubbly, Abby could be scary when she wanted to be.

"Director gives her decision on Monday, Abs. We really don't have much time to get her to change her mind." Tony says.

"I thought I had her," Abby says, voice significantly drearier than before, "When I went to her office, I thought I made her realize that a job is a job, but Gibbs is one of a kind."

"Should've sent Ziva in," Tony comments, "They're close."

"Ziva isn't the pinnacle emotional availability, to be fair." Ducky remarks, finishing off the last bit of his tea.

Tony goes to protest, but decides it's better to keep that to himself, lest he risk her getting upset with him for divulging aspects of their personal relationship.

"Should have talked to Gibbs instead of Jenny," Tony says, "He'll listen to you."

In an instant, Abby perks up, a bright smile overtaking her features and she looks almost ready to burst from excitement.

"Tony, you're a genius. I bet I can convince him not to let her go without more of a fight."

She bounces out of autopsy as soon as the statement escapes her lips, platforms clacking against tiles as she hastily speeds away.

"God help Jethro." Ducky says.

Tony nods, "Amen."

* * *

He hadn't expected to find Abby sitting at his desk when he first arrived, her arms crossed across her chest and a stubborn scowl on her face. It was still early, to early for his team to have arrived, and he can't fathom why Abby would be there so early. Then again, not much makes sense these days.

"Mornin'." He greets with only the slightest bit of trepidation

She skates over the pleasantries entirely and gives him her best glare, "What the hell are you doing?"

It doesn't take him long to realize what's she's talking about.

"Lecture Jen again, this is her problem." It's a bit harsh and he knows it . Even in the midst of his frustration, he knows that Abby is acting with the best intentions.

"I can't believe you're just letting her walk away and into the arms of the FBI. Have you lost your mind?" She exclaims, standing up from his desk.

He's never been more grateful for an empty bullpen than he was in that moment, because the octave his voice reaches isn't anywhere near what would be consider a proper volume for being inside.

"She wants to leave! I can't stop her. Christ Abby, she wants it, she's gonna take it. It's always came down to the job for her. So that's it, there's no more fighting to be done."

"There's always more fighting to be done, Gibbs."

"Job trumps relationships to her. I could sweep her off her feet and then some, but the positions she wants to achieve will always be the priority in her life. Not fair for you to accuse me of loosing all sense of a relationship."

He expects her to storm off, or perhaps snap back at him for yelling. It wasn't often he dared to raise his voice at her. Despite what he may openly deny, she was his favorite, and she always looked at him with hurt whenever he was even the slightest bit mean to her.

But, much to his surprise, she held her ground.

"Did you tell her you wanted her to stay?" She questions.

The question throws him for a moment, "It doesn't matter what I want, it never has."

"I'm not asking what she wants, I'm asking you. Did you tell her you wanted her to stay?"

He knows he should be straightforward with her, but something in his head becomes a perfect cocktail of confusion every time she asks the question.

"She's stubborn," he says, "I can't make her change her mind. Back in Paris or now."

Abby rolls her eyes, "You're evading the question Gibbs, and I can stand here all day and wait for you to answer. Did you tell her?"

He runs a hand over his face in frustration, pinching his lip between his teeth as he does. Everything was to much. Jenny leaving, Abby prodding him, the headache forming with every word that came out of her mouth.

"No," he finally relents, "No, I didn't tell her I wanted her to stay."

"But you do, don't you?" She asks.

"Yeah. I want her to stay."

Abby shakes her head and sighs, "I just want to see you happy Gibbs, and you seemed to be pretty happy with her, and she with you. I just," she pauses, "I just hope she realizes there's more to life than climbing the work ladder of hierarchy."

He sighs, "That's what Jen is built for; working herself to the bone. She's the best at what she does."

There a glum look overcasting Abby's features, and she reaches out to rub his arm supportively, "I think your guys Locus Amoenuses are closer than either of you realize."

At her words, he pulls her into a hug. If he was certain about anything in life, it was that Abby would always be around to fight for him when he wouldn't fight for himself. Or Jenny, for that matter.

"Maybe, Abs. Maybe."

At the top of the catwalk, Jenny stands frozen in place, just out of view from the two people below her. The emptiness of the bullpen allowed for every word they spoke to echo through the room and to her. And though the voices were feint, she could still piece together the jigsaw of words coming towards her.

He wanted her to stay.

It was such a simple sentiment, but one he hadn't dare say to her. Upon hearing it, everything seemed to fall into place for her. He wants her to stay.

And suddenly she did too.

* * *

**A/n: A slightly shorter chapter, but the next one will be the last next to the epilogue, so stay tuned friends. The end is nearing soon. **

**Please RR!**

**\- Ali **


	27. The Final Word

After hearing the conversation that Gibbs and Abby had, which really was blatant eavesdropping and less than professional though she really couldn't bring herself to care, she had isolated herself in her office with specific instructions to Cynthia not to let anyone disturb her.

"If anyone tries to come in," she tells her, "Tell them I still carry a weapon and aren't afraid to shoot them."

Cynthia, whose facial expression hovered somewhere between amused and horrified, could only nod in response and utter a "Yes ma'am."

She stares at the framed photo of her father that sits on the corner of her desk, his stoic face and militant uniform always offering her some form of comfort in her most stressful moments. This time, she could find no solace in his memory. It seemed even her father couldn't be her guiding force through her choices. The proverbial ball was in her court.

There was something the clicked inside of her when he said he wanted her to stay; a feeling that she had only experienced when she was writing his letter in Paris. A sense of not knowing herself or how he truly felt about her.

He may have claimed to love her, but only now did she realize that he _wanted_ her to be there. Her work had always fulfilled the sense that someone needed her, a feeling she had never been able to replicate in her past relationships. For once though, love seemed to be enough.

And no amount of promotions would eliminate void she is so desperately trying to fill with her work.

If only she had figured that out within herself sooner, she wouldn't have left the first time.

But she's for damn sure she's not going to let it happen a second time.

* * *

The video conference with SecNav was creeping closer by the minute, and her anxiety increased with each passing second. She replays her speech in her head; trying to perfect her reasoning for not taking the job and for wanting to stay at NCIS, but everything thought gets to jumbled in her mind when she thinks about her personal vendetta for not leaving.

MTAC is all but empty when she enters, save for the few agents plastered to their computer screens as they work to ready the conference call. The less people to witness her possibly make a fool of herself, the better.

"SecNav is on the line for you ma'am," one of the agents informs her, "Would you like me to patch him through?"

"Please." She replies, trying to ignore the shaking of her hands.

The screen in front of her lights up, and for the first time she is acutely aware of how big the screen is, and how looming his presence is despite only being digitally present.

"Good afternoon, Director Shepard." He greets with a friendly but firm nod.

"Afternoon, Sir." She replies.

"I have a few things on my itinerary to discuss with you, but first order of business: the FBI has been hounding me for an answer from you on the offer, and I can't delay them anymore than I already have. Have you come to a conclusion?" He asks.

In an instant, a flood of memories wash over her.

_"Don't touch that! It's scotch, you drink bourbon."_

_"So do you."_

_ "I had another visitor, before you arrived unannounced."_

_"Did he duck out the back?"_

_"Now you sound like a jealous husband."_

_They're standing at the bottom of her staircase, to close to one another to be considered proper, especially with a child sleeping in the other room._

_"Once upon a time I would have asked you to stay and I wouldn't have taken no for an answer."_

_"No."_

_"What happened, Jethro?"_

_"You made a choice."_

_"I had to do what was right for me. I still do."_

_She's all but ranting to him when she notices the far off look in his eye; one that clearly shows he's paying her no attention. It irritates her but piques her curiosity and she can't help wanting to know what was on his mind. _

_"What are you thinking about?"_

_"Paris."_

_"Get your mind out of the bedroom, Jethro."_

She inhales as much air as her lungs would allow, throwing her shoulders back and holding her head high as she speaks.

"I have sir, and I have decided to respectfully decline their offer."

Within an instant, she feels the weight lift off her shoulders.

"The FBI will be disappointed to hear that, though I must confess that I'm happy to keep you in our jurisdiction. You're certainly an asset to loose, Shepard."

"Thank you sir."

He clears his throat, "May I ask why you're declining? I'm certain they'll want to know, too."

She's positive the smile on her face could only be described as nothing less than whimsical, though she can't bring herself to mind one bit. True, it may not be the most becoming look for a leader of a federal agency, but it was what it was.

"NCIS is my life, sir. I've given it my best and my worst years. There are things here in my professional career that I don't think I've fully completed yet; places I want to see the agency go and things I want us to achieve. Aside from that? Well, DC has been my place for as long as I can remember. My entire livelihood is here. My house, my job, the person I want to come home to each night. None of those are things I am willing to sacrifice, sir."

There's a silence in the room for a moment, and she's suddenly acutely aware of the other agents milling about throughout the room and how they certainly had heard her elude to having a someone to go home too just as SecNav had. There will certainly be a rumor floating around the agency about it within a days time, though she can't bring herself to be concerned with that fact at the moment.

"I'm sure I speak for all of us here when I say that the agency is lucky to have a director as dedicated to them as you are. I look forward to watching you continue to propel NCIS forward under your tutelage, Director."

She smiles again, "Thank you, I look forward to it as well."

With a final debriefing, the screen cuts to black as he ends transmission.

It takes her all of five seconds to decide what to do next.

* * *

The room was filled with the mid day sounds of agents bustling around; the afternoon hump of Monday dangerously close to being overcome and the energy amongst the occupants of the building was palpable.

While an almost full house of her employees was not an ideal setting to do this in, she decided that she didn't care anymore. Her place as Director was air tight, and nothing could change that at the moment no matter what she did.

His eyes meet hers across the room as she makes her way towards him. She's certain the smile on her face is throwing him off. After all, their last conversation was one of the most emotionally grueling they had had with each other; certainly nothing to smile about.

He's standing near the elevator, clearly having had the intent on getting into it with his team, when she reaches him.

"Jen, what-"

His words are cut off entirely when she cups her hands around his face and presses her lips against his.

"I'm not going," she says, pulling away slightly before kissing him again, "The job, I'm not taking it. I'm not going anywhere."

This time, it's him that pulls back from her, just enough that he can look her directly in the eyes, "You turned it down?"

She nods, stroking the side of his face as lovingly as she could muster in the moment, trying to convey even a fraction of the adoration she feels for him through touch. Behind her, she swears she hears Tony catcall the two of them.

"This is my place," she says, fingertips tracing the outline of his lips, "Here in this agency. And here with you."

His lips twitch into a grin under her touch, and he finally reaches out and grazes her side with his hand, "What made you change your mind?"

She smiles at him, the same whimsical one she wore only minutes before, "My Locus Amoenus is where ever you are, Jethro. And you're here. I have the job I want and the person I want, and I'm lucky enough that he wants me too. This is my happy place; wherever you'll be at my side."

When she kisses him again, she can feel him smile against her, and she knows that she had finally found it: her locus amoenus.

It just so happened it was his too.

* * *

**A/n: And we have made it to the end! I would have actually decided to have her take the job and have them navigate their relationship while she was away had I not wanted to wrap this story up, but I don't want to overstay my welcome. This story is not what I had first thought it would be, and I don't know if this is the direction I wanted it to take, but here we are. **

**I will have an epilogue posted soon to tie up loose ends, so sty tuned for that. **

**\- Ali **


	28. The End

_**Epilogue**_:

_Two years later: _

The desert wind whips past his face in a flash of hot air, the particles of sand it carried scratching against his skin with every gust. Despite the harsh breeze, the mid day heat and harsh sunlight swelters around him and it makes it harder to breathe.

"Jenny's dead."

He hears Ducky on the other end of the line, but the sentences the man speaks don't register in his brain. The only thing he hears is the sound of his own voice repeating the words over and over in his head as he tries to accept what now is true.

_Jenny's dead. _

_Jenny's dead. _

_Jenny's dead. _

"Her last stand was to protect you." Mike had later told him, which infuriated him all the more. He knew that he shouldn't have let her go to California without him. He knew it.

Every part of the last two years play in his mind. Their relationship was tumultuous at times, but there was always an understanding between them that they were together for the long run. That, despite how difficult things could get, they were going to wade through the tide together.

He had arrived back home in a blur. There are pieces of the journey he remembers, flashes of plane tickets and car rides, badges and blood, but his mind has been to fuzzy since he learned of her death. He knows Ducky picked him up from the airport, that Abby had hugged him and cried, that Ziva had driven him home, that Tony had avoided him at all costs, points of memory that permeated its way in his mind despite his gaps in memory. What he has no recollection of however, was finding his way to her house long after he had been dropped off at his own.

They had agreed early on that they wanted to keep their respective houses; there were to many memories compiled in both of their minds for them to want to let their homes go. Still, they stayed at his house more often than not.

He opens her best bottle of bourbon and fills his glass to the brim before swigging it back, knocking out half of it in a single go. For a moment he thinks that she would be mad that he's raiding her good liquor, but then he decides she would forgive him given the circumstances.

The top of her desk had been recently organized, something she must have done before she left as it certainly hadn't looked as uniform the last time he saw it. There's an array of blue ballpoint pens and freshly sharpened pencils aligned in a tidy row, an unopened pack of paperclips, folders and papers neatly filed away in her drawers. A clear sign she had been there days before she had left.

After all, despite sleeping at his house her best work had always been done in her study.

He flips through her papers; emptying out any type of folder or reading over any document that might help him learn just why she left so suddenly. What had she found that roped her in so deeply into Decker's death that it had cost her life?

_Her last stand was to protect you. _

Mikes word ring in his head over and over like a heavy mantra. It occurs to him then that she would have only have done what she did was if she was truly scared that his life was in danger.

Another folder is being emptied out onto the desk when a piece of light blue stationary slips out from between its files. It's torn edges and small size caught his attention almost immediately.

There are two simple words written across the top in her soft cursive. In an instant, he feels his heart pounding hard against his chest are he reads it over and over again.

_Dear Jethro_

There's a rush of anger that flows through him as he realizes it's all she left him with. Two simple words. No explanation, no parting declarations, no goodbye. It infuriates him to think she hadn't thought about him enough to leave him with something.

His head becomes a concoction of grueling emotions; the grieving process hitting him harder with each day that passes. The addition of his frustration with her only serves to make his head hurt more.

"Damn it, Jen."

He knocks back another glass of liquor.

* * *

He wakes up a cold sweat. The heavy quilt that had been draped over him when he fell asleep had been kicked off of him despite the cool temperature of the room. It had been a habit he developed after Shannon and Kelly's deaths; tossing and turning during a fitful nights rest. He supposes there's something so smothering about being trapped under a series of blankets that makes him do so.

The room is still shrouded in darkness; a clear sign that the sun hadn't made its morning debut yet.

To his left, he feels the bed shift and hears the rustling of movement against the sheets.

"What time is it?"

Her voice is heavy with sleep and a bit raspy, but sound of it calms his nerves almost instantly.

"Little after three," he says, glancing at the alarm clock on his beside table, "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Mmm," she grumbles into her pillow, "Everything okay?"

As his eyes adjust to the light, he can finally begin to make out her silhouette in the darkness.; how her shoulders slouch against the pillow and her chest rises and falls in even breaths.

"Yeah, fine."

There's a pause before she speaks again, a sign that she wants to press him further, but she decides against it and simply says, "Okay."

She throws his half of the discarded quit back over top of him and relaxes back into the bed again, inching herself over just enough that her back is pressing against his side and he cant help but run a hand up and down the length of her arm.

"Go back to sleep." She mutters, voice thick with exhaustion as she teeters on the edge of slumber again.

Though she won't see it, he grins at her through the darkness, "Night, Jen."

Her voice is faint, muffled by the pillow when she mutters "Love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

**A/n: Here we are! The end! I actually was going to have her die at the end of this, because I felt in some way that it really would tie everything together with the series. Life doesn't always have happy endings, and I thought maybe the ending could reflect that, but I decided against her being dad for real for two reasons. 1) Because one of the joys of FanFiciton is being able to deviate from canon, and 2) Because I didn't want to upset anyone who has been keeping up with this story by having her die, even though the emotional impact of that would be much more effective than simply giving them a happy ending. **

**Then again, it is nice to have stories where they ride off into the proverbial sunset together and live out the rest of their days peacefully. Such are the joys of canon divergence. **

**Thank you so much for keeping up with this story, I read each and every one of your comments and are especially grateful for those who have read and commented faithfully with every chapter I post. I am overwhelmed by the amount of followers and comments I gained from this. **

**Please let me know your final thoughts, I would love to know what your opinions are, whether they be good or bad.**

**With Love, **

**\- Ali **


End file.
